United
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: AU: Helena and Myka meet at university, and both of them find the meaning of family.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_ Guys, I promise that _On the Mend_ is still a priority, but, seriously, this little thing just keeps popping into my head, and I can't get rid of it. I'm hoping that typing some of it out will get my muse back on track, but Bering&Wells is just destroying my focus on _everything_. I'm not even sure if I like this one, yet. Let me know what you think.

* * *

Helena's first day of classes had, thus far, not gone as smoothly as she'd hoped.

Though, admittedly, she was sure that a lot of it was credited to the fact that she didn't actually want to be there, and while she'd _hoped_ for the best, Helena really hadn't expected much of anything at all. She supposed that it hadn't been all that bad, in retrospect, but she'd felt rushed and clumsy since morning, and there had been more than one hurdle for her to overcome throughout the course of the day.

Obstacle One: Christina's socks seemed to have burrowed into the ground, or had managed some other means of escaping the terror that today was quite evidently destined to be, because she'd searched for thirty minutes for a matching set, and had unhappily submitted to allowing the girl to sport a mismatched pair.

"_Mummy, it's alright!" The five-year-old reassured happily, emerging from her drawer with a light blue sock sporting some odd looking bird that, had anyone thought to ask Helena, would clearly have been ill-suited for the real world; those eyes were far too large to have survived natural selection, and its feel far too small._

_But Helena had fought against that thought more than once, with the mantra of _"it's a bloody sock"_ chanting through her mind, and after discerning that the small sock was not folded into its partner, she allowed an exasperated laugh at her daughter before she moved to lift Christina from the stool that she'd set in front of her dresser._

"_But I wanted to help!" Christina objected, squirming from Helena's hold and seating herself cross-legged on the bed with a huff._

"_You, my love," Helena began, placing her hands on her hips, "can help by eating the breakfast that's waiting on you downstairs. Go on," she encouraged, gesturing toward the door. "Pancakes."_

_Christina frowned and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest, regarding her mother with narrowed eyes. "Chocolate chips?" She inquired skeptically._

"_Oh, certainly," Helena confirmed cheerily. It wouldn't do for Christina to know that she was anxious about the day. "And," she paused for dramatic effect, struggling against a grin as her daughter's little arms collapsed to her sides to grip the edge of the bed as she eagerly shifted forward, "I do believe there's a strawberry milkshake – but that just might be on reserve for another, better behaved little girl… Perhaps she'll come to collect it while we find you a sock, hm?"_

"_You can find the sock, Mummy!" Christina declared, leaping from the mattress and landing on quick, steady feet. "I'm afraid I have breakfast to get to."_

"_If you insist, darling," Helena smiled, and caught the girl in her arms for a quick kiss to her cheek._

_Christina giggled and hugged her little hands around Helena's neck before tearing away and performing an odd coordination of graceful movements as she danced from the room._

"_Now, where have those bloody socks gotten off to?" Helena sighed to the vacant room. _

_And ten minutes later, Helena resignedly snatched the light blue sock with the goofy looking bird and plucked another light blue sock of a slightly different shade – this one with butterflies – from the dresser. _

"_It'll do," she huffed, and parted for the kitchen._

Obstacle Two: the nanny had been late. She'd apologized profusely, of course, and Helena had gritted her teeth and smiled through some excuse about a traffic incident on the highway, all while mentally condemning poor Sophie to all sorts of excruciating pains that unguardedly emerged from her imagination.

"_Sophie, darling, that's perfectly alright – but I'm running a bit late this morning, and I've really got to be going," Helena announced, assuring the late twenty-something that it was a forgivable offense._

"_Of course," Sophie nodded, blonde straight locks shifting over her shoulders as she turned bright blue eyes in her daughter's direction. "Hi, Miss Christina," she greeted warmly. "We're going to have fun while your mother's gone, aren't we?"_

_Christina looked momentarily doubtful, because – though they'd performed a trial run for a few hours last week, where Helena took a spa day and anxiously fiddled with her cell phone the entire time – Sophie was a new presence in her life, and Christina had suffered enough changes in her short lifetime to know that she wasn't often fond of them._

"_Of course you will," Helena confirmed with a confidence that she didn't quite feel, but scrounged up for Christina's benefit. "Be good for Sophie, love," Helena instructed pointedly. "And I'll be home by five."_

"_Five?" Christina inquired, and Helena knew, in the furrowing of tiny brows and the crinkle of a small forehead, what question came next. "When is five, Mummy?"_

"_Five," Helena said, kneeling to match her daughter's height, "is when the longer hand is on the twelve, and the short hand rests on five. I'm sure that Sophie can show you, hm?"_

"'_Kay," Christina sighed and folded her arms around Helena's neck for the second time that morning. "I love you, Mummy."_

"_And I, you, my girl," Helena promised, heart warming and eyes, inexplicably, watering. Oh, she was very much dreading this day. She would have remained entrenched in this tiny, perfect human's affections until the earth's end, if it could be done. "Always," she whispered into wide ringlets of curls._

"_Come on, Christina," Sophie said, touching the girl's shoulder and casting a knowing, sympathetic look in Helena's direction. "I think I saw _The Little Mermaid_ in your cabinet the last time I was here, didn't I?"_

"_Oh!" Christina exclaimed, wriggling from Helena's grasp. "Yes! Mummy bought me the second one, too! Can we watch them, Sophie? Please?"_

_But Sophie, of course, had already been informed about Christina's fascination with the Disney films, and Helena appreciated that she took the care to remember the small detail about her little girl. So she'd stood and straightened her back with a grateful smile in Sophie's direction, snagged her car keys from her purse, and shoved them into the ignition of her Prius before she could spare another thought to cowering back into the comfort of her home._

Obstacle Three: Helena couldn't find her building; the University of Colorado was miniscule in comparison to Cambridge, and Helena was certain that she could manage to work her way around within a week or so – but she was well aware that wandering from building to building in order to acquaint herself was not possible, given her crunch for time, and she was lost (quite literally) until she could do so.

"_Bollocks," Helena murmured, unfolding the brochure she'd retrieved from admissions the day before, and sweeping an aggravated hand through her hair as she tried to read the map at the back._

_Abbreviated letters denoted the buildings on the diagram, and the letters were indicated on a key to the right of the page, which declared the full titles of the buildings – but Helena was sure that there had to be a simpler way, because flitting her eyes to and fro simply took up more time than she could afford._

_She was fairly certain that she was in Lot Four, which meant that she was near the academic side of campus – but from there she was flummoxed. She huffed agitatedly and attempted to take a look around, to perhaps see if she couldn't better find her path without the damn map._

"_Are you lost?" A soft voice inquired from over her shoulder._

_And despite that every fiber of Helena's being desired to proudly reject the very notion, she knew that she had best accept this young woman's not-quite-offer to help if she had any hope of arriving on time. So, she whirled around and flashed a charming grin, instead. "I'm afraid I just might be," she laughed airily._

_But she felt a bit staggered, really, because while the woman's voice had been melodic and sweet, Helena hadn't quite expected that she would be so… pretty. And though it had taken a moment for her mind to produce the word, 'pretty' was exactly the proper adjective for this girl. Tight, dark brown curls hung down over her shoulders, and a wide, lovely mouth offered a tentative, comforting smile that Helena (God help her) nearly sank beneath. Warm and bright green eyes evaluated Helena as Helena's dark brown did the same, each of the pair sizing the other up and making little attempt to mask it._

"_Helena Wells," Helena pronounced finally – though, she suspected that the moment hadn't stretched nearly as long as it had felt – and she proffered her hand._

"_Myka Bering," the woman introduced, shuffling her bag on her shoulder and shoving the two books that she held into one arm and tucking them against her chest so that she could accept Helena's palm with slender fingers that felt hot as they gripped against the back of Helena's hand. "Where are you headed?" The woman – Myka, Helena corrected – asked. _

"_Columbine," Helena stated with a wry smile. _

"_Me too," Myka shared as the corners of her mouth lifted into a small, returning smile. "I can show you, if you want?"_

"_That would be lovely," Helena said appreciatively, and observed as the girl gestured across the street and took a step forward, indicating their traveling direction. "I'm not certain I would've managed to find it on my own, and I'm afraid my class begins in ten minutes," Helena said, falling into step at Myka's side only after a long, appreciative glance up the elegant length of Myka's legs. _

_Nine minutes, actually, but she felt much better about potentially being tardy now that she had such kind company. Which was ridiculous, of course, because first impressions were crucial and she was determined to succeed at this university in Colorado Springs – but tardiness seemed to be in Helena's nature, so perhaps showing up late for class would simply prepare her professor for the days to come. _

_Besides, Helena was certain it could be in her good interest to make a fine impression upon Myka Bering, as well._

"_It's not too far," Myka promised. "It's easier to get there from Lot Seven," she acknowledged, "but it's almost always full."_

"_I suspect that might be the lot I spent twenty minutes searching around earlier, then," Helena chuckled. "Thank goodness I've found such a generous guide," she lauded, and was less-than-shocked when it emerged flirtatiously, despite that she'd had no intention of it._

_Helena observed as Myka's cheeks flushed pink, and she allowed a private, satisfied smirk to sidle across her mouth. "It's really not a problem," Myka dismissed. "Like I said, I was going there, anyway."_

_Helena hummed. "Well, I thank you, nevertheless. This is quite a bit of a change for me," she winked at Myka._

"_I'd imagine that it is," Myka laughed, and when Helena lifted a curious brow, Myka shrugged and offered a grin. "The accent isn't very subtle, you know. And given that you're lost, I'm kind of assuming you haven't been here long – at least not in Colorado."_

"_You assume correctly," Helena chuckled. "I only arrived in Colorado a month ago. My first years of university were spent at Cambridge."_

"_Seriously?" Myka's brows lifted. "That must've been great," she breathed, and Helena could detect no small amount of wistfulness._

"_It was… an experience," Helena settled._

"_How did you end up here?" Myka questioned, and Helena couldn't help but to find the curious tilt of her head endearing._

"_My brother is in Denver," Helena replied, despite that it wasn't the _entire_ truth of it. "Some research, I've gathered, for his newest novel. I suppose I could've attended university there, but I fear there's only so close I can remain to my family without going mad."_

_Something in Myka's eyes darkened, for less than a full second, by Helena's count – but a moment later it had gone, and she nodded. "Yeah, I get that," she said with a comforting smile. "Anyway, this is Columbine," Myka told her, indicating the door with a wave of her free hand. "I have to get to class, too, but – here," she said, shuffling her bag around to her front and pulling the zip open, snagging the corner of a piece of paper from a notebook and a pen from the side pocket. It took some rearranging, and Myka had to set her books down on the small coffee table that hovered off to the side of the entrance, but she scribbled her phone number down, and somewhat clumsily shoved the paper at Helena, and finished, "You can call me if you need anything, or get lost or something. It's probably not easy – not knowing anyone around here," and she gestured vaguely with her hand to indicate the campus – perhaps the city. Helena wasn't sure that it mattered. "It couldn't hurt to have a friend around, right?" She smiled shyly, wrangling a stray curl from her cheek and bending it behind the curve of her ear._

"_Indeed," Helena agreed, accepting the bit of paper between her thumb and forefingers. Impulsively – and Helena mentally rolled her eyes at the thought, because, really, did she ever do anything that _wasn't _impulsive? – she leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Myka's cheek. "Thank you, Myka, darling. I'll be forever in your debt."_

_Myka's cheeks burned red, but she shook her head, and managed, "I already told you it wasn't a problem. Good luck in your first class, okay?"_

"_Alright," Helena chuckled. "And you, as well."_

"_Thanks," Myka called over her shoulder, hurrying into the building._

_Helena allowed herself a moment to admire the lithe form as it strode away, before she dutifully followed after and took a left at the sign that indicated her classroom's direction._

"_Righty-ho, then," she muttered to herself as she twisted the handle to the door. "Once more unto the breach," she said wryly._

Obstacle Four: Helena had never handled Christina's tears as efficiently as she felt she should. Though it was the prerogative of every mother to keep their child happy, Helena felt particularly guilty for the changes that had been inflicted upon her daughter's life, and guiltier at the fact that Christina had to suffer the consequences of them.

_Her first and second classes had gone quite well, if Helena had to say – despite the rocky start that she'd gotten off to that morning. She'd wandered through campus for some time to become better acclimated to her surroundings; though Myka Bering had been very sweet and accommodating, Helena would not stand for another directional incident to occur. _

_When her mobile began to vibrate in her back pocket, she frowned – and the frown only deepened upon reading _'Home'_ across the caller ID. _

"_Sophie, darling, is everything alright?"_

"_Mummy," Christina breathed, relieved. "When are you coming home?" She rushed to inquire._

"_Oh, my love, what's wrong?" Helena sighed, seating herself on a bench and offering a small smile at the boy on the opposite end._

"_I miss you," Christina sniffled, and Helena didn't need to be told that her cheeks were painted red as tears leaked from the corner of her eyes._

"_Well, I miss you, as well, my girl," Helena attempted to keep her tone pleased. "But aren't you having a good time with Sophie?"_

"_I guess," Christina reluctantly acknowledged. "But she won't cut the corners off my sandwich!" She exclaimed, quite undignified, if Helena could say so herself._

"_You know better, Christina," Helena admonished. "You eat the crusts, as well, if you want the sandwich. Sophie knows that, too, which is why she wouldn't cut them off for you. You oughtn't try to trick her, darling."_

_Christina huffed, and was quiet and sullen for a long moment on the other end. "Sorry, Mummy," she sighed finally._

"_Mm," Helena hummed her forgiveness. "And you'll apologize to Sophie, as well?"_

"_Yes," Christina blew, dissatisfied. _

"_Good girl," Helena smiled. _

"_When will you be home, Mummy?" Christina asked again._

"_At five, just as I told you this morning," Helena laughed. "Now, be a good sport and return the phone to the kitchen. Ask Sophie if she would like to play a game with you, hm?"_

"_Okay," Christina agreed unhappily. "I miss you, Mummy."_

"_I miss you too, Christina," Helena tried to keep the longing sigh from her voice. "I'll be home in a while."_

"'_Kay," Christina said firmly, and Helena could all but hear the decisive nod that accompanied the tone. "Buh-bye, Mummy."_

"_Goodbye, darling," Helena returned, and listened for the _click_ that signaled her daughter had hung up the line._

_There was nothing more that she could do, honestly. Helena had to do this; she needed to complete her courses, and this was the easiest way that it could be done. Christina simply needed time to adjust, and she wouldn't do so if Helena rushed home the way that she so desired. So, she set off to find a coffee shop to relax for a bit before her next class._

Obstacle Five: There was no decent tea anywhere on this bloody campus, Helena was certain of it. Instead of attempting – because, really, Americans were renowned for making terrible tea, and she simply would not bother to try a cup of it that had been scrounged up by a young college student who'd probably never had proper tea in their life – she'd settled for a cup of coffee and a scone.

_Helena attempted a polite smile at the barista as she prepared her latte, but Helena wasn't sure that it erupted as more than a grimace and was merely met with kind eyes in return. She did enjoy coffee, but she undoubtedly preferred tea. But, she supposed this would do. She was simply grouchy, following the call from Christina, and was in no mood fit for company._

_When she accepted the paper cup, she mustered up another, more genuine smile and thanked the dark-skinned, curly-haired student on the opposite end of the bar, before settling into a relatively isolated booth in the corner, where she could observe the comings and goings of the place._

_After several moments of that, however, and several gulps of her beverage, Helena pulled a textbook from her bag and ducked her head over it, hoping to accomplish some of her work so that she could spend more time with Christina the following day. She had two hours before her next class was set to begin, and it was located just around the corner – Helena had checked – so she had a bit of time to spare._

_Her gaze lifted some twenty minutes later._

"_Hi, Leena," Myka's soft voice somehow carried through the room and into Helena's booth. It wasn't very busy, Helena conceded, but it wasn't terribly quiet, either. _

"_Myka!" The darker woman – apparently called Leena – exclaimed happily. "Hi!"_

"_How'd your first day go?" Myka asked, as Leena began to prepare a drink for her that had not been asked for; Helena suspected Myka came here often. Or Leena knew her quite well. "You're done for the day, right?"_

"_Yes," Leena nodded, curls bouncing around her face. "It was alright. How was yours?"_

_Helena watched as Myka's nose scrunched adorably, and with an amused smile she leaned back into the cushion of her seat to unabashedly observe. "Busy," Myka settled with a sigh. "Are you going to Pete's later?"_

"_I don't think I have a choice," Leena laughed. "He offered to carry me from work, if I was too tired. I'd feel badly if I didn't go."_

"_Okay," Myka chuckled. "But call me if you need a ride. Pete's way too lazy to carry you, especially after practice."_

"_I will," Leena promised. "Take care of yourself until then, Myka," she said, reaching over the counter to hug her arm gently. "I don't know how you do it all, but I know you're very busy."_

"_Thanks, Leena," Myka smiled tiredly, accepting the cup of coffee from the ledge and turning away from her friend. _

_She then promptly caught Helena's gaze, and visibly brightened with a wide grin. _

Goodness,_ Helena thought. _That woman certainly is disarming, isn't she?

_But she smiled languorously and gestured to the seat across from her, and with several long strides, Myka met her at the table and slid into the booth._

"_Hi," Myka smiled warmly._

"_Hello," Helena greeted with a chuckle._

"_How's your day been?" Myka inquired earnestly, settling her bag into the corner and cupping her hands around her drink._

Dreadful_, Helena thought._

"_Could be worse, I suppose," Helena shrugged instead. "And yours?"_

_Myka rolled her eyes. "This is the first chance I've had to sit still all day."_

"_You've a busy schedule?"_

_Myka laughed. "Yeah," she nodded, tucking that same lost curl from earlier behind her ear. "Classical Lit, Biology, and British Lit this morning. How about you?"_

"_Nothing quite so interesting, I'm afraid," Helena smiled. "Mechanical engineering major," she informed with a chuckle. "The only class I've held much interest in thus far has been Physics."_

"_I have a friend majoring in computer engineering," Myka informed. "She's busy most of the time, but I think half of it is because she has all of these personal projects she can't put down. I think she hacked into the FBI database last year," Myka said thoughtfully, and then rolled her eyes. "I think her reasoning was, 'because I'm awesome and I _can.'"

_Helena laughed freely. "Your friend sounds like a character I'd very much like to meet."_

"_Maybe," Myka grinned. "But I think she might die with excitement over another engineering major who's that good at Physics," Myka waved two fingers in the direction of Helena's notebook._

"_Now, Miss Bering," Helena leaned forward as if to disclose a secret, and playfully inquired, "who ever said I was any good at it at all?"_

"_I did," Myka said breezily. "I took that class last year. Your answers are all right, so far, by the way."_

_Helena was already aware of that. The professor was working to establish a baseline for how knowledgeable the students were on the subject, and the initial questions had been rather simple. But Myka had been seated for fewer than five minutes, and had scarcely been afforded a glimpse at the work._

"_Oh?" Helena inquired, leaning back in her seat and lifting a curious brow._

_Myka nodded. Then, bashfully, "I have a photographic memory."_

"_How delightful!" Helena grinned, shifting eagerly. "And what's your major, then?"_

"_I'm a double major," Myka stated shyly. "Pre-med and criminal justice."_

"_And you've found time to incorporate English electives?" Helena's brows shot up, impressed._

"_Trying for an English minor," Myka smiled. "I should have the time, if I can get into all the classes that I've planned, but we'll see if that works out, I guess. I mostly just love books, so the English classes are more for pleasure than anything."_

"_My, you're a busy woman," Helena shook her head. "I've no idea how you find the time."_

"_It wouldn't be so bad," Myka huffed, "except that I have work, too. My boss is pretty great about it, though, and works around my schedule. He lets me snag a few hours between classes, as well as in the morning and afternoons."_

_Helena frowned. "And weekends?"_

"_I have Sundays off," Myka shrugged. "And I'm off by six in the evenings, so it's not too terrible."_

"_Admirable, indeed," Helena murmured._

"_You're one to talk," Myka chuckled, gesturing once more to Helena's things. "Mechanical engineering isn't the easiest major, you know?"_

"_I'm afraid I have little interest in other subjects," Helena laughed. "Though, I wouldn't object to a few English electives, as well. I've a rather distinct fondness for literature."_

_And the blow that Helena's insides suffered was dramatic and nearly physical as she watched Myka's eyes spark into life, flashing between shades of spring grass and the yellowing leaves of early autumn, eagerly shifting forward._

_It was half an hour of discussion, then – on Byron, Dickens, Verne… any author that sprang to mind, really, and the look of shock and admiration (and quite possibly envy) that Myka expressed when Helena confessed to be a distant descendant of H.G. Wells had Helena grappling for what felt like her sanity. _

_Myka was quite brilliant, and very evidently shared Helena's love for the great authors of the past. And when she reluctantly admitted that she had to get to work, Helena somehow mustered the courage to arrange for coffee on Sunday. Myka had flushed prettily, and agreed._

_Helena would have to discuss it with Sophie, but the woman had promised that she was quite flexible with her schedule, so Helena left the time vaguely at 'in the afternoon; I'll give you a ring' and Myka had nodded and waved a goodbye._

And Helena didn't need to recount a memory for her final obstacle of the day; she missed the other woman's company.

_But,_ she thought, carding her fingers through Christina's curls that evening as her daughter recounted the tale of her day, _this is better. _And it was. Truly, it was, and her heart had been aching all day long to return home to this little girl.

But Myka Bering was lovely company. Helena was not so ignorant to deny the pull of attraction she had felt to the curly-haired woman. She was stunning, after all – and those legs of hers stretched on for _days_. That her mind was quick and sharp, and quite clearly put to use was a surprising and pleasing addition, as far as Helena was concerned.

Christina was her priority – always. But it was nice to have an adult to share time with. And it seemed that Myka had enjoyed spending time with her, as well, which was all for the better. It would be nice to have a friend.

"Mummy," Christina pouted, jumbling around in Helena's arms until she could face her with crossed arms and demand, "are you listening?"

Helena lifted a haughty brow, and challengingly replied, "Yes."

"What did I say?" Christina ordered skeptically.

"You found a frog by the creek and named him Fred," Helena returned promptly, attempting to maintain a solemn expression – but how could she? This girl was so bloody stubborn and vivacious and demanding and _hers_. This little, beautiful girl was _hers_, and the very idea of that – even five years after giving birth and sobbing her love into a head of dark locks bundled in pink – floored her.

"Yes!" Christina exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air theatrically. "And Sophie wouldn't let me take him home," she huffed dramatically. "Mummy, can't I have a frog?"

"You absolutely may not," Helena scrunched her nose up and brushed it back and forth across Christina's, scrubbing away the frown until it morphed into free laugh. "They belong outside, darling. I'm sure that you can visit Fred tomorrow."

"He might not be there," Christina pointed out.

"Perhaps he'll be with his friends," Helena smiled. "And you wouldn't want to take him from his friends, would you?"

"No," Christina puffed reluctantly, but then brightened soon after. "Can I see my friends tomorrow, Mummy? Alex and Kiera?"

"We'll see, darling," Helena hedged, but she immediately wanted to arrange it. Christina had made fast friends with several children at the park two weeks ago, and she and the children's mother had exchanged numbers and promised to work out a play date. Helena wanted to give her that, since she'd had to express such a tearful goodbye with her other friends in Cambridge. "But, for now, it's time for bed."

"But I don't want – "

"Oh, yes, I know, darling," Helena crooned with false sympathy. "But if we go and play with Alex and Kiera tomorrow, you don't want to have to take a nap, do you?"

Christina's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I won't have to nap?" She searched.

"Not if you don't want to, love," Helena affirmed, though she was sure that if they did go to the park, her Christina would collapse with exhaustion in the car before they arrived home.

"Fine," Christina conceded, scrambling beneath the blankets and tucking them beneath her chin, effectively covering her pink elephant pajamas. "Will you read to me, Mummy?"

"Of course, darling," Helena confirmed, reaching onto the nightstand for a book that Charles had gifted to Christina the previous Christmas.

And as Christina's head hovered over Helena's heart, sighing softly into the night, Helena was certain that no other child was quite so perfect as hers.


	2. Chapter 2

Myka's week had been fast, and incredibly busy. She'd spent Monday evening at Pete's, but had holed herself in her room on Tuesday night to complete the work that she'd neglected in order to spend that time with her friends. It wasn't until Friday afternoon that she allowed herself to relax, leisurely tipping back into a roller chair in the library.

It would be nice when it was Sunday, and she would have no need to attend class or work, but the break in her academics alone was a relief. If she was being honest, she truly did love her job at the library, even if it sometimes left her scrambling for time. But, it funded her townhouse, and often (on slow days) she could complete her classwork at the check-in booth with no interruptions, and that freed up her evenings a lot of the time.

Today was one of those days, and it was alleviating to finally have a moment of unrushed time. So, Myka didn't pull out her books just yet, instead opting to lean her head against the back of her chair and rest her eyes until the next patron arrived.

It had only been five minutes of that – the library wasn't exactly the place to be during the first week of classes, after all – before her relaxation was interrupted.

"Well, if this is working, I certainly envy your job," the amused, now-familiar lilt of Helena Wells cascaded over her ears and settled unnervingly at the base of Myka's spine.

Myka smiled and, with a lot of concentrated effort, lifted her head and creaked her eyelids apart. "Don't tell Artie," she instructed warmly. "Usually I do homework, but," she shrugged, "it's been a long week."

"Mm," Helena hummed softly. "Yes, I can agree with that."

Myka frowned. Helena sounded quite tired, really. "How did your first week go?" Myka inquired sympathetically, despite that she already knew pieces of it.

Helena had texted her a few times over the past several days, inquiring about plans for Sunday (they'd arranged to meet at two, at an off-campus Starbucks) and even discussing a mystery novel that Helena had just finished, and simply _had_ to discuss with someone else who'd read the book. But they hadn't really had much conversation regarding classes since they'd bumped into each other on Monday, so Myka felt okay about asking.

"Oh, it was alright. A bit daunting," Helena chuckled airily, "but, all things considered, I suppose I'd call it a success. I did, after all, score a date on my first day," she leaned closer to whisper playfully. "That has to count for something, yes?"

Myka tried to fight the flush that heated her insides, but she was sure her efforts went unnoticed; she could feel her face warm, and knew that once the blush was there, no amount of willpower would wash it away. "I don't really imagine that scoring a date is all that difficult for you," she offered wryly, pointedly ignoring the visceral reaction that this woman wrestled out of her.

"I've had my share of offers," Helena acknowledged with a dismissive flutter of her right hand, canting a hip against the countertop that Myka sat behind, "but I've yet to find anyone on this campus quite as engaging as you, darling."

Myka was sure that she was being flirted with, but she wasn't quite sure why; Helena was gorgeous and smart and, at least as far as her speech was concerned, very forthright and sociable. Myka prided herself on her intelligence, but aside from that, she thought that the two of them shared very little.

Nevertheless, she enjoyed talking with Helena, and she wouldn't deny that she was a bit flattered by the attention, even if she was sure that it was innocent. So, she smiled and bashfully offered, "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

"That's very kind of you," Helena murmured with a smile that, if Myka had to guess, looked pretty affectionate – but that didn't really make sense to her, so she ignored it, mostly.

"Did you need help finding something?" Myka inquired, tipping her head curiously with the realization that Helena obviously hadn't come to the library to find _her _– Helena hadn't even known that she worked there, actually – so she must've been on the hunt for something different.

"No," Helena denied, grinning. "I just came to get a bit of work done, really – but now that I've come across you, I fear I've found better things to occupy myself with."

Myka held up her hands innocently and amusedly said, "Oh no. I don't think so," she shook her head. "I'm not going to listen to you blame me on Sunday for all of the work that you still have left to do before class on Monday. I'm not jumping on that sword."

Helena tossed her head back and laughed, a free, delighted sound that rumbled in Myka's stomach, and Myka's gut clenched a little as strands of silken hair tossed over the backs of Helena's shoulders. "Surely having a bit of a chat with me isn't such a _sacrifice_," Helena insisted, but her tone had lowered enough to have Myka wondering just how often this woman failed to get the things she desired – because, really, that voice glided down like smooth whiskey, and left Myka lightheaded like she had actually downed it.

"Fine," Myka attempted a histrionic sigh. "You can stay, but you're still going to work."

Helena's brows lifted with her amusement. "And where shall I do said work, love?" She asked lightly.

Myka shrugged. "You can come around the desk," she offered. "I tutor a lot of students back here, and Artie doesn't mind."

"This Artie is your supervisor, yes?" Helena inquired, shifting around to the bit of counter that Myka had rolled forward to lift in order to allow her access.

"Yeah," Myka nodded. "He's… moody."

"Moody?" Helena pressed, chuckling. "And you're certain he won't mind if I hang around for a bit? Because I'm not going to listen to you blame me on Sunday for all of the trouble I've gotten you into," she teased.

But Myka had a feeling that this woman was already getting her into all kinds of trouble, without even trying. And probably without even knowing.

"It's fine," Myka assured. "Promise," she vowed, when Helena cast a skeptical glance in her direction.

"Well, if you insist, darling," Helena smiled, raking a hand through her hair. And she flirtatiously – _arrogantly, in a somehow charming manner,_ Myka amended – added, "But, for future reference, you need only ask if you wish to spend time with me."

Myka huffed. "Uh-uh," she shook her head. "This was _your_ idea, Wells."

"Perhaps," Helena shrugged. "But I've already asked to spend time with you, haven't I?" She declared cheekily.

"Obviously you're impatient," Myka returned, grinning.

"Oh, yes," Helena feigned sincerity. "However, it was you who invited me behind this VIP counter to begin with, was it not? Evidently, I'm not the only impatient party in this pair."

"You're the one who refused to do your work," Myka pointed out, and then deliberately added, "which you suspiciously still haven't taken out."

Helena's mouth – _and, God, what a pretty mouth_, Myka couldn't help thinking – parted to speak, but promptly closed upon a whispered hiss of, "Mykes!" from behind a bookcase around the corner.

Myka rolled her eyes and offered an apologetic glance at Helena, before replying, "What is it, Pete?"

"Oh, good, it's you!" Pete declared, his normal decibel of _loud _decisively revealed and, pretty clearly, relieved. "I thought it might be Artie back here, and he always yells at me when I come to visit you," he informed, rounding the bookshelf he'd no doubt been crouching behind and hopping up onto the counter, swinging his legs boyishly. "Hey, hey, hey!" He said interestedly, finally noting Helena's existence. "Who's your friend, Mykes?"

"This is Helena," Myka said, nodding her head in the brunette's direction. "Helena, this is Pete Lattimer," she introduced exasperatedly, "who is sweaty and _gross_, and shouldn't be anywhere near my books."

"I had practice, Mykes," he whined theatrically. "And I haven't seen my bestest bud since Monday. Cut me some slack. Hi, by the way," Pete said, in almost one fluid sentence, and shifted his gaze to Helena. "Mykes told us she showed you around. If you get lost again, you can always come to me for help," he flashed a grin. "I'm always happy to have a hot chick on my arm."

It really shouldn't have happened, Myka would reflect in hindsight, but she felt a twist of displeasure at the comment, despite that she knew Pete was just being _Pete_, and didn't really have any intention to do anything but flirt with Helena.

"I'm flattered, truly," Helena laughed, pleased, "but I'm afraid I've already found a conductor for my foray into this university. Myka's been quite lovely these past several days."

Myka cheeks flushed again, and she allowed a silent sigh as she cursed whoever it was that had graced her with such blatant expression of her emotions.

"Ooh, a Brit," Pete sighed in a dramatically dreamy manner. "Why d'you always gotta be so _helpful_, Mykes," he huffed. "You're ruining my game," he finished.

Myka promptly slugged him on the shoulder, to Helena's chuckled amusement.

"Ow! I'm just kidding, Mykes! Jeez," Pete said, rubbing his affected arm. "You sure you want her to be your guide?" He asked, turning skeptical eyes on Helena. "She's _violent_, y'know."

Myka rolled her eyes.

"Then perhaps she'll protect me from offending gentlemen such as yourself," Helena beamed a grin that was quicker than a strobe effect to soften the blow of her otherwise-would-be offensive comment.

"Hey, it's the quiet ones you gotta look out for, man. Right, Mykes?" Pete said, poking Myka's arm playfully, and when Myka glared at him, he threw his hands to air, and swiftly announced, "Totally kidding! Don't hit me!" And he shrank away slightly. "Please?" He pouted, jutting his bottom lip out and accompanying the gesture with puppy-dog eyes that Myka rarely said no to.

Helena lifted an entertained brow, and inquired, "Surely she doesn't hit _that _hard."

Pete snorted, and Myka shyly folded a curl behind her ear. "Yeah she does," Pete puffed. "She's _always_ had a mean left hook," he lamented.

"You two have known each other for quite some time, then?" Helena asked with a quiet smile, and Myka thought she detected a bit of wistfulness.

"Since forever," Pete proudly declared. "Mykes broke up a really embarrassing fight between me and Ralph Brunski in first grade, and he cowered away like a _girl_."

"He cowered away like he had some good sense," Myka said pointedly. Ralph had, admittedly, been a huge jerk – especially to Pete – but that particular fight had started after some stupid bickering over the last Jell-O cup in the cafeteria, and had escalated to absolute nonsense.

"Ever the hero, it seems, Miss Bering," Helena murmured, and Myka had been so distracted by her thoughts of elementary school that she had failed to notice Helena lean up close to her ear.

Myka's breath didn't _catch_, and it didn't _hitch_ the way that Myka had read about – her breath flat out _reversed_, somewhere in between the inhale that she meant to respire to her lungs and the sharp exhale that she really couldn't help as hot breath ghosted across the soft flesh beneath her ear that had always, always been her downfall.

"It wasn't a big deal," Myka rasped, trying for a careless shrug that she could feel was jerkier than she'd intended.

"Totally was," Pete dismissed, oblivious to Myka's _obvious_ pain.

_Arousal, _Myka admitted. Oh, it was _definitely_ arousal. And she refused to feel guilty for it, despite that Helena was only a new friend, because, with that low and sultry tone, she was sure that Helena had envisioned precisely that response. She would worry about the _why_ and _for what purpose_ later, when she had gathered her thoughts to some semblance of serenity – or could even think of anything beyond Helena's close proximity at all. But, for now, she was content to acknowledge the feeling and make every attempt to school her expression against it.

"I fear that Myka is far too humble," Helena declared, shifting back in her seat with an evident, satisfied smirk that had Myka's cheeks flaming red all over again – and, _God_, would she ever stop blushing around this woman?

"Oh yeah," Pete snorted. "Myka has it down to a science. I keep telling her she should show off a little. She's here on scholarship, you know," Pete informed, grinning at Helena.

"Pete!" Myka hissed, embarrassed.

"What?" Pete asked, holding his hands up innocently. "Mykes, you worked your ass off all through high school while I was busy getting schwasted at every party in our district. And you still came to pick me up when I was too drunk to get home. You totally earned bragging rights."

"It is rather impressive," Helena agreed softly, but when Myka turned to look at her, she was met with curiosity and a bit of sadness – which didn't really make sense to her, but that was quickly becoming a theme with Helena.

"Yeah, what she said," Pete said, nodding emphatically and pointing at the brunette.

Myka absently lowered his arm, and stated, "It's rude to point, Pete."

"Whatever," Pete rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying, just because your dad is – "

"Stop," Myka cut him off, and winced a little at the coldness in her tone that even she could hear. "I'm sorry," she said, offering a wry, but apologetic twist of a smile, and shifted an uneasy glance at Helena, because, _really_, that was not a discussion she wanted to have with Helena. Ever.

"No, you're right," Pete rushed. "That was my bad," he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "What's that thing you're always calling me, Mykes? Tactful?"

Myka snorted. "Tact_less_, Pete. Antonyms. Opposites. Very different."

"Whatevs," Pete grinned, waving a flamboyant hand outward. "_Anyway,_" he said, rounding on Helena, who looked mildly bemused and very sad, Myka thought, but remained silent and respectful of the heated and clearly private exchange, "there's a game tonight. A football game," Pete specified, grinning. "You guys are gonna come, right?"

"I've never been to one – presuming it's American football, that is?" Helena inquired enthusiastically.

And if Myka hadn't planned to go, she was pretty sure that she would have changed her mind, because Helena looked so _excited_ at the prospect of observing the brutal sport, and Myka didn't want to miss a second of her introduction to it.

"Uh, _yeah_," Pete confirmed, his tone clearly indicating that anything aside from American football was simply undeserving of the title. "Because, y'know, we're in America now, Helena. Jeez, your name is long," Pete digressed, scratching the back of his head thoughtfully. "Can I shorten it? Like Hel, or – well, we can't do anything with the end, 'cause we already have a Leena, and that would just get confusing, right?"

"Her name is pretty the way it is," Myka defended intantaneously. "Leave it alone, Pete."

"Actually," Helena grinned wolfishly, "most of my friends at Cambridge called me HG. They are, after all, my initials – and I'm afraid my relation to the famous Wells preceded me."

"Dude, are you, like, connected to royalty?" Pete bounced eagerly. "That'd be so cool! What is it? Like, a duke or something? Ooh! Are you related to the Queen?"

Helena released an inelegant snort, and if Myka weren't so busy being offended on her behalf, she might have poked playful fun at the noise. As it stood, she _was_ offended on Helena's behalf. And a little on behalf of her country, too.

"H.G. Wells, Pete," Myka huffed. "You know, the famous author who invented science fiction and is undoubtedly the reason that your precious _Star Wars _even exists? Seriously? How do you go from HG to the Queen? Just because she's from England doesn't mean that she has to be related to the monarch," she rambled, and felt her cheeks, once more, redden under Helena's simultaneously grateful and utterly, utterly amused expression.

"Who said anything about butterflies?" Pete asked obnoxiously, but Myka knew it was an intentional faux pas. She was pretty sure. Somewhere around eighty percent, anyway.

"Like I said," Pete pushed onward, "you guys should come to the game. Well, _you_ should, HG," he informed. "Myka's gonna come anyway, 'cause she loves me and is gonna come watch me start."

Myka briefly saw Helena's mouth widen to speak, but she brazenly cut her off as the realization sank in and she whirled around her to face her best friend.

"You're _starting_?" She gasped. "Pete, that's so great! I'm so proud of you! Pete's never started before," she explained to Helena in a rush of a breath as she stood up and nearly knocked her chair over in the process to lean over the counter and pull Pete into a tight hug.

"Ooph!" Pete cried dramatically. "Jeez, Mykes. Thanks," he chuckled, embarrassed. "So you're gonna come, right?"

"Of course I'm going to come, you idiot," Myka scowled and punched him on the shoulder again.

"Ow! Y'know, I like it better when you hug. How come you never hug? The world needs some more Myka lovin'," he decided.

"With hugs like that?" Helena smiled wickedly. "Who wouldn't? I must confess, I'm a bit envious of you, Mr. Lattimer."

And, lo and behold, Myka blushed. And then firmly elected to ignore the comment altogether, because she'd thus far managed to respond to Helena's flirtations with one of her own in return, or a blasé remark (if she could say so herself) that pretended as if she hadn't noticed it at all – but she was flustered by Pete's presence, and by Pete's _news_, because he'd worked so hard for this, and she couldn't quite keep up with Helena's comments just now.

But Pete had no such restrictions. "Hot, hot lady love! Nice! Ow!" He snapped, and Myka shrugged innocently, with a feigned expression that clearly spoke for her.

_Yes-I-did-just-hit-you-for-the-third-time_ and _you-totally-deserved-it_ and _knock-it-off-Lattimer_ all rolled into one.

"I'm _leaving_," Pete pouted melodramatically, but just as quickly wiped the expression clean off his face. "I'll see you tonight after the game. You too, HG!" He declared, grinning against the fact that she had never actually confirmed that she would be attending. "It's not nice to disappoint new friends, and Mykes gets so bored at the games, 'cause Steve and Claudia always run off to make trouble somewhere, and Leena never stays to the end. So she'll be disappointed if you don't come. And I'm your friend now, too, so I'll be disappointed if you don't come, and I'll never forgive you, and you'll miss out on all the magic that is _Pete_," he informed, gesturing down the length of his torso as he backed out toward the exit. And then, solemnly (_and not at all conceitedly, _Myka added with a roll of her eyes) "And I'm awesome friend, so it'd totally be your loss."

"I think she gets it, Pete," Myka said affectionately, laughing softly.

"Your insistence has been duly noted, Mr. Lattimer," Helena confirmed, amused.

He waved a broad goodbye over his shoulder as he turned, and Myka reverted her attentions back to Helena with a sheepish gaze. "Sorry about him," she smiled reservedly. "He's a little much sometimes."

"But you love him," Helena said knowingly, allowing a warm smile that actually felt hot – really hot – because Myka was sure that she was melting under it.

"Yeah," she confessed, rolling her eyes again. "He really is an amazing friend, though, even if he is a little lacking in the modesty area."

"And," Helena licked her lips, and Myka would swear that it was intended to be as seductive as she felt it was, because it seemed to run in slow motion as Helena eased forward, touching the boundary of what would have been Myka's personal space, if Helena hadn't popped that bubble and pushed right through it like it had never been there to begin with, "would my new _friends_," and her mouth folded over the word like a somewhat challenging caress, "truly be disappointed if I neglected to attend?"

"I mean," Myka stalled, tracing her eyes over the redness of Helena's parted mouth, "I guess if you don't want to go, we'll somehow manage without you. But I think Pete would really like it if you came and cheered him on a little."

"And what of you, Myka Bering?" Helena murmured, eyes brazenly flitting downward to Myka's lips and rising once more, slowly, before she met Myka's gaze again, and Myka could see in the curve at the corner of Helena's mouth that her staggered breathing had not gone unnoticed. "Should you be happy if I came?"

"Sure," Myka swallowed against the purely dirty interpretation that her mind immediately produced at the final expression in that sentence, and she couldn't decide whether that particular double entendre had been premeditated or not, before it surfaced from Helena's mouth, but the British woman was evidently pleased with herself after noting Myka's reaction to it, and offered a really, really sexy smirk that had Myka squirming a little in her seat. "Yeah, some company would be pretty nice," she breathed finally.

"Mm," Helena hummed softly, and Myka could feel the noise flutter in her chest almost like it had emerged from the back of her own throat. "Then I shan't disappoint you, darling."

"Or Pete," Myka struggled to add.

And Helena chuckled – a low, absolutely _filthy _sound that couldn't have been read as anything but sensual or lustful or some close variation of one of those two things, and Myka's insides erupted like fighter pilots were at war, firing off bazookas and grenades and bombs and all kinds of devastatingly explosive things in the pit of her stomach. "Or your dear friend Pete," Helena purred her agreement, abruptly rising and sweeping her bag over her shoulder, tossing Myka an effortless, teasing wink before striding elegantly through the exit that Pete had jaunted out of just moments before.

And_ what?_

_What the hell just happened?_ Myka was left to wonder, groaning as she threw her head back over her seat.

Only, now she wasn't really relaxing at all. Now, she was imagining, and agonizing, and just shamelessly _fantasizing_ over glossy hair, and molten eyes, and – Myka really couldn't help it – a lusciously vivid, eidetic-memory-induced image of a perfectly delicious ass.

And Myka had been with a woman. Two, actually. So it wasn't her attraction to Helena that reeled her. It was the depth of the attraction that threw her off; the pure admiration of Helena's intellect, the contentment she felt while humbled under Helena's uninhibited laughter, the near insanity she experienced when Helena had hushed that heated breath of a compliment over her neck and ear…. Myka had never felt so flustered, or desperate, or turned on in her life, and she'd only just met the woman that week.

And, _God_, was she in trouble, because she now had two fixed plans to meet with Helena over the weekend, and Myka was pretty sure that she would puddle at the woman's feet if she were met with any more of _whatever the hell had just happened_, and it would be downright embarrassing.


	3. Chapter 3

Helena hadn't meant to fluster Myka quite _so_ much. She truly hadn't.

Her final class of the day had been let out mere moments after it had begun, as the campus bookstore had run out of textbook copies for the students, and her professor simply didn't have the materials to conduct a lecture without them. But Christina's modified schedule was new, and Helena didn't want to give her daughter the inclination to expect Helena home early on a regular basis.

So, she'd gone to the library to kill an hour or so with some coursework before heading home. Running into Myka had been a delightful distraction; her week had been long and exhausting, and had only been made worse by the fact Christina, after spending all summer in Helena's company with her undivided attention, had been more than a little dissatisfied with the changes to her daily routine, and she had been all but a terror for most of the week.

Myka had simply looked so peaceful, draped over the back of her chair at the library's entrance, and, Lord, the woman was beautiful.

Helena had been helpless against her from the moment she'd walked through, scarcely allowing poor Myka any time at all to adjust to Helena's shift from playful remarks to shameless, sensual flirtations. Foreplay, really, Helena would admit, and she had carelessly traipsed over more than one boundary that she wasn't actually certain she should have crossed. Myka had held her own fairly well, Helena thought, considering that she had been far less than subtle, but the near constant flush of Myka's cheeks had Helena charmed beyond reason, and when Myka failed to object to her blatant sexual notions, Helena simply couldn't have helped herself.

Christina was, conveniently, set up for sleepover with Alex and Kiera that night, and Helena had been all too eager to accept Pete's invitation to join them at the football game. She'd never faired well when her Christina spent the night away from home, so the game would be a welcome diversion. And she would not hesitate to admit that Myka Bering greatly intrigued her, so more time spent with that woman would certainly not be squandered away.

Helena had been absurdly absorbed by the information that she had garnered about Myka through Pete's rather thoughtless dialogue – and inexplicably saddened, as well. Myka was rather modest, and, though that largely seemed to be part of her nature, Helena had also been able to discern that somehow her father had not helped matters in the least.

Helena had heard nothing but warmth and kindness part from Myka's pretty lips until the mention of that man. And she suspected that the relationship shared between them was quite complex.

But she was sure that any discussion on the matter at this point in their friendship would be ill received, and she supposed that Myka was entitled to her secrets, particularly when she herself was keeping no small number of them.

_Friendship,_ Helena pondered with a chuckle. She was very near to calling it a courtship, really, because only a week in and the pair had already scheduled two meetings and had communicated a truckload of sexual tension that Helena wasn't altogether sure she should act upon. But her impulsive nature was indisputably leaning toward _act._ _Definitely, definitely act._

"This one, Mummy!" Christina declared exuberantly, interjecting herself firmly to the forefront of Helena's musings.

"That one?" Helena inquired playfully, turning to regard the flimsy, very low-cut top that Christina had rummaged through Helena's closet to find. "Dear girl," Helena laughed, "_that_ one is for a different occasion, I'm afraid."

"What kind of occasion?" Christina bunched her nose up in concentration, attempting to mimic the final word precisely as she recalled Helena pronouncing it, but drawing out the 'o' just a bit too sharply.

_The kind when Mummy's decided to coax Myka Bering into bed, darling,_ Helena's mind supplied rather (un)helpfully.

"Perhaps I'll wear that one on Sunday, love," she smirked secretly, although she would truly have to see how this evening's events played out before making any final wardrobe decisions about her date – and, God, had she been pleased when Myka hadn't protested against that particular term. "It's a bit chilly at night, now, isn't it?" She pointed out playfully, stretching her palms over Christina's little tummy and flexing her fingers into a brief tickle.

Christina squirmed under the attention, and shrieked, "Mummy! Stop it!"

Helena laughed. "As you wish, darling. As I was saying, perhaps I ought to wear something a bit warmer, yes?"

"The brown jacket!" Christina cried swiftly, scampering tiny legs forward to bury herself in the closet once more, emerging with the leather jacket that, even at two, Christina had been fascinated with.

Helena could work with that. "Aces!" She complied a bit overenthusiastically for Christina's benefit, grinning at her daughter's obvious pride at having helped to select her outfit. "And have you gotten your things together, as well?"

"Yes!" Christina clapped excitedly, scrambling onto the bed and adding a healthy few bounces on her knees. "Sophie helped me pack!"

"And you remembered your toothbrush?" Helena inquired pointedly, raising her t-shirt above her head and replacing it with a light blue sleeveless top that swooped low enough over her breasts to draw attention to them without quite trying – although, clearly she was, indeed, trying. But it needn't appear so to Myka's perception, Helena reasoned, sliding the accompanying brown jacket across her shoulders.

"Yes," Christina confirmed dutifully with a roll of her eyes.

"Good girl," Helena lauded, and Christina grinned.

"Are your new friends nice, Mummy?" Christina asked, settling her bum back on the heels of her feet, fully engaged in observing Helena as she prepared for her evening.

"Very nice," Helena verified. "And one of them is going to be playing at the game tonight."

"Is he any good?" Christina pressed.

"I haven't seen him play yet, darling," Helena reminded with a laugh. "And I wouldn't be the one to ask, I'm afraid. I've never watched an American football game before."

"What's the difference?" Christina's head tilted sideways, and her brows furrowed inward with her confusion.

"I shall let you know when I return," Helena said. "Perhaps Myka shall enlighten me, as well, hm?"

"Myka?" Christina rustled around until she could cross her legs at the edge of the bed.

"Mummy's new friend," Helena divulged. "She's been helping me find my way around. Isn't that kind of her?"

Christina nodded solemnly. "She's nice?"

"Oh, yes," Helena smiled affectionately, because Myka certainly was that.

Helena had gotten the rather distinct impression that the woman nice enough, in fact, that she often took on the role of caretaker. She'd rescued Helena from a rather undignified tardy on her first day, after all, and had been very quick to offer Leena a ride from the coffee shop on Monday. Myka had also told her that she often tutored students in the library, and she had, apparently, saved Pete from a brawl with Ralph Brunski even in grade one. Helena had also noted the near maternal pride she'd rushed to express at Pete's recent accomplishment.

Helena was very attentive to all that she'd learned of Myka Bering. She'd already admitted that Myka intrigued her. She was certainly not shy about (at least internally) acknowledging that she'd paid rapt attention to everything she'd sussed out about Myka's character.

"Myka is very nice," she told Christina a moment later.

Christina was quiet for an inordinately long time, which was quite unusual for her, so, concerned, Helena pivoted from the mirror she'd been applying makeup in front of in order to face her daughter. "What is it, darling?"

"Am I not going to get to meet your friends anymore, Mummy?" Christina queried softly, but her eyes were sad as they peered up at Helena through long, dark lashes, and Helena's heart crushed.

Helena's 'friends' at Cambridge had been vastly misinformed about the manner of Christina's conception, via the absent father. Helena had been called all sorts of things – and she could handle it, truly; Helena was nothing if not proud, particularly when it came to her daughter – but when the remarks had begun to reach Christina's ears through the mouths of her playmates, whose parents thought so very little of Helena and often took to calling Christina a bastard child whilst in the company of their own children, Helena's threshold for patience had been hotly breached.

"My Christina," Helena sighed sadly, kneeling to the floor in front of her hurt little girl, and placing a palm over both her thigh and cheek, "Mummy's friends at Cambridge were not so kind."

"But how do you know that your new friends are?" Christina probed, dark eyes volleying between each of Helena's. "'Cause you need friends, too, Mummy. And they should be able to come play at the house, yes? Like my friends do," Christina declared with a rather decisive nod.

Helena warred internally against the lustful idea of _playing_ with Myka Bering anywhere at all, just for a moment, before her daughter's emotional needs inevitably won out.

"Perhaps," Helena voiced her agreement. "But first we shall be certain that my new friends are kinder than my last ones, hm?

"And then I can meet them, right?" Christina grinned, satisfied.

"If they succeed in proving themselves," Helena confirmed teasingly, squeezing Christina's thigh and easing forward to tenderly brush a kiss to the beautiful girl's forehead. "Now, go get your things. We wouldn't want to be late for your first play date, would we?"

"Nope!" Christina giggled, jumbling off of the bed and dancing in that way that she does from Helena's room to her own.

Helena managed to add a second layer of mascara before a loud _thump_ announced that Christina's bag had been unceremoniously plunged in front of the door, and an eager shout of, "Hurry up! We mustn't be late!" informed Helena that she was simply out of time.

With one last glance to the mirror and a quick flick of her fingers through her hair, Helena conceded to her daughter's insistence, and made her way down the steps.

* * *

After a brief exchange of texts, Helena and Myka had elected to meet in the parking lot outside the stadium. Helena hadn't entirely considered that she might be in need of a admissions ticket, honestly, but before she'd had time to concern herself over it, Myka had promised that Steve had purchased seasons tickets for his mother, and that she wouldn't be making an appearance this week, so they were in possession of an extra.

But the campus parking lots were full, and boisterous, loitering students meandered through every spare space of the aisles, so Helena opted to park in an off campus garage, and walked toward the lot that Myka had said she and her friends were tailgating in. It took some searching, but she caught sight of an unmistakable head of glorious curls through the crowd and promptly made her way in that direction.

Myka's cheeks were a bit pink, when Helena could finally view her full visage, and she held a red plastic cup in her right hand as she animatedly discussed something with a small, younger looking redhead with dark eyes and any number of quirky accessories dangling around her wrists and attached to her clothing. Myka sported tight, dark jeans and a grey v-neck top that stamped the university logo and mascot across Myka's chest, which was hugged very flatteringly by the light cotton material. Curly wisps of her hair occasionally breezed behind her with the strokes of the wind, and her eyes were bright and happy in the company of her friends. And, God, Helena thought she was radiant.

And evidently a bit tipsy, Helena noted with a quirked brow, as Myka stumbled just a little in the direction of the pickup truck that a blonde-haired man with a quick smile and kind eyes – Steve, she identified by process of elimination – was leaning against.

Helena promptly stole that moment for her arrival, darting a hand out to cradle Myka's hip under the pretense of stabilizing her, and daringly dancing her fingers just slightly beneath the edge of her shirt to brush across heated flesh. She leaned forward several inches more than would strictly be considered necessary, and murmured teasingly into Myka's ear, "You've begun the festivities without me, it seems, Miss Bering."

And if Myka hadn't been flushed already, Helena was certain that she would be, then, because Helena watched her shoulders tremble beneath the weight of a heavy sigh before Myka whirled around to face her.

"Hi," Myka greeted shyly, carrying her hair back with a quick sweep of her empty hand.

"Hello," Helena returned softly, with an amused lift at the corner of her mouth.

"You must be Helena," Leena smiled amiably, stretching out her hand.

Helena received it accordingly, and replied, "Indeed, I am. And you are Leena, yes?"

"Mhmm," the woman agreed with a hum. "This is Claudia," she said, indicating the redhead, who offered a wide grin and a wave, "and that's Steve."

"It's nice to meet you," Steve said, shaking her hand, as well. "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," Helena accepted graciously.

"So, HG – mind if I call you HG? Pete said it was cool," Claudia announced, hopping up on the bed of the truck and dangling her legs over the edge, not bothering to pause for an answer before she inquired, "Is this your first tailgate?"

Helena laughed. "It is, actually. I hadn't thought much on it, I'm afraid, but these events don't actually occur across the pond," she informed, nodding and smiling politely at Steve as he placed a cup in her hand.

"Hope you like vodka," Myka said, jumping up to sit beside Claudia. "'Cause that's all Steve will buy."

Steve shrugged and sheepishly replied, "Because it's the only thing that tastes okay."

"Vodka suits me just fine, love," Helena assured, chuckling and taking a sip of the rather strong beverage mingled with orange juice before gravitating to Myka's side, reasoning that it wouldn't be perceived as quite so odd, as Myka was the only one who Helena had thus far befriended. Instead of boosting herself onto the ledge, however, she casually propped her hip against it.

"Can I – " Claudia eagerly made to ask.

"Nope," Myka interjected, shaking her head. "Uh-uh. Last time we let you drink, you stayed up until four and made a complete mess out of the kitchen. Remember the pots, Claude?" Myka queried emphatically. "Remember how you burned the spaghetti and set the smoke alarm off?"

"You don't even know how to make spaghetti," Steve mumbled, and promptly received a scowl from his redheaded companion.

"But Mykes," Claudia whined, "it was only the one time! I'll be good, I swear!" She vowed persistently.

Myka appeared indecisive for a moment, so Helena brazenly covered Myka's knee with her palm and offered, "Perhaps we can fetch something to eat after the game, darling, and take appropriate measures to protect the kitchenware?"

"Yeah!" Claudia agreed readily, nodding vigorously. "Let's do that! That's a great plan! Genius! HG, I've decided you're a genius!"

"Fine," Myka huffed, shaking her head, and Helena tightened her fingers over the kneecap beneath her hand, all while feeling rather smug, really – because not only had she gained the quick favor of one of Myka's mates, she had also casually inserted herself into the group's plans for after the game, as well. Which meant more time with Myka, and there was plenty of reason to feel smug about that. "But only a couple," Myka added pointedly, jarring Helena from her slightly manipulative thoughts.

"Sure thing, Mykes!" Claudia agreed, reaching her hands out to Leena, who was now preparing her beverage, while clenching and unclenching her fists and greedily exclaiming, "Gimme, gimme!"

"This won't end well," Myka disclosed on a whisper, tucking her face low enough to brush the words in a hot breath of air against Helena's cheek. "And when it goes downhill, I'm blaming you."

And Helena abruptly felt a sharp, needy tug that was decidedly _low_ in her stomach, as Myka's sweet, playful voice caressed and invaded mostly every spare vacancy in her mind that wasn't concentrated on not being too terribly obvious with her flirtations in the presence of Myka's friends.

Helena allowed a throaty chuckle, and swiftly assessed that Leena was busy being entertained by the banter that Steve and Claudia were exchanging, where Claudia was quietly hushing a demand for another splash of liquor in her beverage, surely so that Myka would not hear.

Then, Helena huskily inquired, "And what shall my punishment be, love?"

"I'm sure I'll figure something out," Myka murmured with a sly smirk that Helena had not yet borne witness to, and a thrill quivered hard against her chest in answer. "I can get very creative when the mood strikes, you know."

Helena hummed a thick noise from the back of her throat, and, in a voice laden with heat, she breathed into Myka's ear, "Then, should the need arise, I shall concede my responsibility and submit myself to whatever punishment you so desire, darling."

When Myka failed to respond, Helena lifted her gaze to evaluate whether she had pushed the subject just an inch too far, but the woman's eyes were dark and dilated, and Helena was certain that it was not at all due to the alcohol. Wildly satisfied, Helena lifted a challenging brow, and, though Myka still did not form a reply, she met Helena's gaze evenly and cupped her drink in her palms, raising it to parted lips and draining a rather large gulp before launching herself off of the truck.

"We should be going," Myka declared, and Helena drew her bottom lip between her teeth to disguise a grin. "The game's going to start soon."

Oh, she was going to have quite a bit of fun with Myka this evening – particularly if her libations so continued to loosen the woman's tongue. With that in mind, she promptly downed what was left of her own beverage, and accepted a hasty shot poured by Steve, who emphatically informed her that once inside, the drink prices were more than a little exorbitant.

She lifted her glass in salute to Myka, who quirked a smile before joining her in the endeavor, folding pretty lips over the edge of her own glass, and throwing it back with apparent ease that Helena momentarily envied, because the vodka that coated her tongue was cheap, and not at all created for its taste.

* * *

Once in the stands, the excitement that permeated through the student body was all but palpable. Helena had never truly been much for sports, and she'd gathered that Myka wasn't, either – but she could see the appeal.

Myka's friends were lively and eager, and Myka happily indulged them. The fact that they were all a bit inebriated only added to the enthusiasm.

When the players emerged onto the field some ten minutes later, the group shot upward with quick, loud cheers.

Claudia's, however, was the most notable.

"Wooo!" The redhead cried above the crowd. "Goooo Peteamus! Kick their butts, man!"

"She's certainly an interesting character, isn't she?" Helena laughed, amused.

"Yeah," Myka agreed, grinning, leaning close to Helena's ear so that she could be heard above the noise of the crowd. "Try living with her."

"She's your roommate?" Helena queried.

The girl seemed sweet, if a little eccentric, Helena thought as the crowd seated themselves following what Myka had called 'kick-off,' but she wasn't sure that she would have imagined Myka to get on with her well enough to share a living space.

But Myka nodded, scooting a little closer as the crowd disparaged the referee for a poor call, and confessed, "Claude's only seventeen, but she's really smart. She went to high school with us, but she jumped a few grades in elementary school, and another couple once she hit freshman year; her state test scores were off the charts. She was a grade below us, though, so I only met her when she came into my dad's bookstore looking for some technological book for a project she was working on, but we were pretty quick friends. She was a foster kid, though, so being alone wasn't really her thing, and Pete and I were pretty much her only friends," Myka said, sounding remarkably, commendably sad for such a vivacious occasion, and Helena nearly felt her heart ache a little at the drop in Myka's mood. "She was really lonely when we left for college. She didn't really have much planned for after high school," Myka continued, "so I kind of pushed her into applying for some scholarships and taking out a few student loans. She never performed as well on her schoolwork as she should have," and Myka sounded briefly irritated with the fact, but Helena stifled her affectionate smile and nodded her interest, encouraging Myka to proceed.

"Her grades weren't always the best, but I think it was mostly because she was bored," Myka explained. "Anyway, the scholarships were a little harder for her to find, but she managed a few smaller grants with her SAT scores, so when she got here I offered to let her stay with me. She has a job in the IT department, so she helps out with the bills when she can, but it's harder for her while she's paying off the loans and stuff, and I don't really mind."

_My,_ Helena thought, pleased, _Myka certainly is talkative when she's got a bit of liquor in her system, isn't she?_

"And Steve and Leena?" Helena asked, struggling against the urge to praise the woman for her generosity, certain that Myka would reject such a compliment in swift and short order.

Myka grinned again. "We met them here. Leena and Steve were friends before we met, but Claudia met Steve when his computer broke down last year, and we met Leena not long after."

"You've a rather unique group of friends, darling," Helena acknowledged with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but we're all really close," Myka said fondly, nodding and curling her hair behind her ears.

Helena eyes flitted to the field momentarily, absently noting that one of the teams was preparing to score, but she had very little interest in which one. She was far more engaged in the stunning creature snugged against her right side.

"You don't have many friends, do you?" Myka asked, tipping her head in that endlessly endearing manner and regarding Helena with soft eyes.

"Obviously not," Helena flashed a quick, would-be-easy grin. "I've only just moved here, love," she reminded.

"Yeah," Myka muttered quietly, "but I meant before, too. I don't mean it badly," she was quick to reassure, "but you get kind of sad when you talk about my friends."

Helena wasn't quite sure what to say to that. It was curious to her that Myka had noticed it, because Helena was fairly proud of her ability to mask her emotions. But she couldn't yet discuss the debacle that Cambridge had become, so she remained silent for a moment too long.

"You don't have to talk about it," Myka smiled, reaching over to hug Helena's wrist with her slender fingers, and, despite the somberness that had overcome them, Helena was sure that she could feel the heat that radiated outward from that small contact singing through to her veins. "But you do have a friend here," Myka declared with a widening, crooked grin. "And you can talk about it if you want to."

"Myka Bering," Helena murmured, quirking her mouth into a reciprocating smile, "you're a rather insightful being, aren't you?"

It was the best that she could do. She wouldn't go so far as to tell Myka that she was wrong, because, if nothing else, Helena suspected that she could, indeed, find a very good friend in Myka – but she wasn't about to disclose details just yet.

Myka shrugged bashfully, but promptly launched into the air with a small, drunken waver, emitting a loud burst of applause that was scarcely discernible through the eruptions of the crowd around them, insistently tugging at the collar of Helena's jacket to pull her upward, as well.

"Pete just scored a touchdown!" She boasted proudly, and Helena chuckled, finding herself more and more besotted with this woman by the second, before obligingly clapping her hands together with the rest of the students.

"Mykes!" Claudia shouted, leaning behind Steve and Leena's backs from her end of their little section. "Mykes!" She called again, and Helena playfully poked her side and gestured in Claudia's direction. "We're gonna go get food!"

"Take your phone," Myka instructed, smiling. "We'll wait here!"

Claudia nodded, and, with a jumble of motion in conjunction with a few dissatisfied grumblings from the other students that the three had to shovel through in order to make their escape, Steve, Claudia, and Leena trudged back to the aisle.

"It seems your dear friends have abandoned you," Helena smirked.

"They always do," Myka rolled her eyes, nudging Helena's shoulder impishly with her own. "I get annoyed waiting in the lines at the concession stands. They usually bring me a drink and something to eat though, so that makes it mostly okay. Did you want anything? I should have asked earlier," Myka huffed, clearly displeased with her momentary lack of consideration. "But I can text Claude, if you – "

"I'm perfectly alright here, darling," Helena comforted, laughing lightly and patting Myka's thigh amiably.

And that was an understatement, because even here, surrounded in every possible direction by animated, bouncing classmates, Helena was perfectly _thrilled_ in Myka's company.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: _Guys, this is seriously the longest chapter I've ever written. It just kept _going_, so you guys better like it. :P Let me know what you think! And, for the record, I'm a little bit flabbergasted by the responses from this story. You guys are truly, truly amazing. Thank you!

_Addendum:_ MottsKid suggested that the song 'Lullaby' by The Cure might be a nice supplement to this chapter. It was specifically noted to try it out when Myka starts making drinks, but I've found it suitable for mostly the whole thing. Fair warning, though: you might want to look up the lyric video on YouTube instead of the official one, because the official one is a little disturbing and creepy, if you ask me. The lyrics, also, don't quite fit, but they're quiet and kind of whispered, so mostly I'm saying that the music and the beat are very, very appropriate. : ) Thanks!

* * *

Myka was feeling a little suspicious. Steve and Claudia and Leena had been gone for a really long time, and, while that wasn't necessarily unusual, they usually let Myka know if they were going to be running off somewhere. But when her phone vibrated several minutes later, Myka's eyes snapped wide open, and she experienced a clarity that had evaded her for most of the evening.

"Oh my God," she muttered, scrolling through the quick series of texts from Claudia. And they just kept getting _worse_, so Myka incredulously repeated, "Oh my _God_," as she read onward, before heavily groaning out, "You've got to be kidding me."

"Is everything alright, love?" Helena asked, hushing the words against Myka's ear and latching onto Myka's arm as she leaned closer, both of her heated hands burning hot against Myka's chilled bare flesh. When Myka shifted to face her, she could detect genuine concern reflecting in the warm mahogany eyes that Myka was so swiftly and profoundly growing fond of, and she thought that she might have swooned a little, but managed to gather herself (barely), and muster a reply before too much time had lapsed.

"You so owe me," Myka deadpanned, shaking her head at her phone and blowing out a hard sigh.

Helena's eyebrows lifted in that strangely remarkable manner that she so often adapted, expressing challenge and amusement with an ease that Myka had never seen anyone else master so efficiently, just before the woman inquired, "And what, if I may be so bold as to ask, do I owe you for, Myka?"

And she would not blush. She wouldn't. If the universe deemed it suitable for her to redden under Helena's startlingly frequent flattery, fine. And if she couldn't help but to warm beneath the sensation of hot fingers brushing against her hip, she could work with that, too. But she _would not_ blush just because a sultry British accent bent and curved and whispered headily over the four short letters of her name. Myka wouldn't. She refused.

But she did.

She so did, and she could feel it rapidly flaming down her chest – and, for the first time, she regretted the v-neck top that she had chosen to wear that night, because she inherently knew that Helena would be supremely satisfied with the effect that she'd provoked, but Myka couldn't help it, and, damn it, she had _tried_. And it took a moment, or maybe several before Myka could gather her breath and remember the messages that she had just deciphered, and sharp indignation took up residence once more.

"Claudia and Steve just received a police escort out of the stadium," Myka informed her on a breathy murmur, head (and vision) swimming a bit under the influence of her earlier alcoholic indulgences. "She's lucky they didn't arrest her. Jesus," Myka huffed, tucking her phone into her back pocket. "I _told_ you letting her drink was a terrible idea."

"A police escort?" Helena echoed, and when Myka nodded, Helena threw her head back, releasing a deep, husky laugh that, strangely enough, had Myka's worries about Claudia receding pretty firmly into the back of her mind. Because, really, she could only focus on one thing at a time in such an intoxicated state, and Helena more often than not unwittingly demanded every iota of Myka's attention.

And Steve was with Claudia, anyways, so she wasn't a terrible friend, right?

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," Helena apologized, and, though she was still grinning amusedly, Myka was pretty sure that there was also a healthy measure of sincerity being relayed through the sentiment. "Perhaps I oughtn't have encouraged her," Helena admitted, chuckling.

"Perhaps not," Myka replied dryly, but smiled crookedly, simply unable to help herself, because Helena was _gorgeous_, and just tickled pink, and her silky hair seemed to be absorbing every ounce of the moonlight that shone down from the mostly clear sky, because Myka could barely see anything else outside of it except for the pale, pretty skin that it hung around.

"Do we need to check on them?" Helena asked thoughtfully, fleetingly tightening her grip on Myka's arm in support. Myka had almost forgotten that Helena was holding it at all, but the reminder was nice and warm and irrationally exciting.

But Myka admirably (she thought) wrestled against the hard, abrupt throb that hammered in her chest, and, upon finally emerging victorious, shook her head. "Claudia told us to stay. They're taking the bus back to Steve's place."

"What is it that they've done, exactly, to warrant such treatment?" Helena queried, eyes dancing mirthfully and regarding Myka with delighted interest.

"I don't know," Myka moaned, sinking her chin to her chest. "And I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it if I did know, so I'm just not going to ask. But it was probably something stupid."

"She's young," Helena reasoned, and Myka nearly leaped when two fingers grazed beneath her jaw, exerting just enough pressure to tilt her head back to eye level. "Surely you could not begrudge the girl a bit of life experience," Helena insisted teasingly.

And, God, she was close, because Myka could feel the utterances playing across her mouth and all but caressing her lips, so she darted her tongue out to wet them, confirming for herself that, no, Helena's words – while powerful and reaction-inducing – did _not_ actually manifest into physical form.

Then Myka remembered that she was meant to respond, so she shrugged unsteadily, and vaulted her eyes between the dimples that flickered to life against Helena's cheeks while she tried to recall what it was, exactly, that they had been discussing.

"I just wish she didn't tempt the universe so much," Myka eventually managed.

Except, Helena just smiled for a long moment – a sweet, inviting thing, like she knew exactly where Myka's mind had scampered off to during that embarrassingly pregnant pause, and was not at all opposed to indulging Myka's whims. But Myka wasn't sure, so she smiled bashfully as Helena's fingers fluttered away, and silently lamented the loss of the contact as the breeze whispered coolly against the now vacant surface of her skin.

But then Helena was at her neck again, closer than Myka had dared to imagine her ever being, and the woman's lips scraped carnally against the reddening flesh of Myka's ear, and Helena just purred, low and sizzling and smooth, like it was just the most ordinary thing in the world for her to do, "But, darling, the temptation is half the fun of it."

And Myka scarcely achieved a quivering smile as her heart battered violently against her chest, but she was a little concerned that one of her ribs might crack under the pressure if that bothersome affair didn't stop sometime in the really near future.

Then, like she hadn't just turned Myka's insides to boiling liquid that rolled wrathfully in her stomach and burned hot in her throat like acid, Helena stood and held out her hand, demanding, "Come. Let's fetch another drink, shall we?"

And, helplessly, Myka complied, slipping her fingers into the offered palm and obediently rising from the bleachers.

* * *

Pete had been ecstatic when they met up with him after the game, and Myka had showered him with praise for his winning assist on the final touchdown. When she had hugged him hard against her and murmured her congratulations, Pete folded his arms around her waist with an unusual flush of his cheeks, and sincerely whispered, "Thanks, Mykes," against her shoulder.

And, though Myka had sensed that her presence and accolades had meant a great deal to her best friend, it was Helena's commemorative and indulgent kiss on the cheek that had him flouncing around like a peacock in front of his whooping teammates, before Pete declared that they were going out for drinks, and he would call Myka the next day.

So when they began to make their way out of the mostly empty stadium some thirty minutes after the game had ended, Myka bumped her shoulder against Helena's and playfully told her, "Touchdown aside, I think you made Pete's day."

Helena chuckled and offered a careless shrug. "I shouldn't like to disappoint my new friend," she replied spiritedly. "I was explicitly cautioned against doing that, wasn't I?" She teased. "Although, I honestly don't think I observed much of the game at all," Helena added contritely.

"I never do," Myka admitted with a sheepish grin. "I mostly just keep an eye on Pete, and cheer when he makes it to the end zone. Or when he throws the ball, and gets it to someone else who makes it to the end zone," she supplemented pensively. "That's a pretty good thing, too."

"What a deceiving front you've put on, darling," Helena laughed joyously, and Myka swallowed thickly when Helena wrapped both of her arms around one of Myka's and covered her palms over Myka's wrist and forearm, respectively, because that trapped Helena pretty snugly against Myka's side, and she could feel the soft flesh of the woman's breasts brushing against her bicep. "And here I was feeling woefully uninformed about that ruthless sport."

And she had to blink twice to orient herself, because Helena was leaning a little into her like her balance wasn't quite right, either, and Myka was reminded of the additional three drinks that they had purchased before the game's conclusion, but Myka really, really didn't mind, and was happy to provide some semblance of stability for Helena that she didn't at all feel in possession of as long as it meant that the woman continued to linger precisely in that spot.

"Did you drive here?" Myka inquired abruptly, because the wayward thought occurred to her that neither of them were at all fit to operate heavy machinery.

"Yes," Helena chuckled softly. "But I'm afraid I oughtn't drive at the moment, love. I still struggle to remain on the proper side of the road when in a sober frame of mind; I fear for the safety of the public merely upon imagining how poor my piloting skills would be in this state."

Myka chortled, but promptly hesitated, then, because her house was within walking distance of campus, but that seemed really… Well, Myka wasn't sure what it seemed, exactly, but she was pretty sure that it wasn't the brightest idea. She wasn't positive what that kind of visit would entail, but she knew that she was liable to do something mortifying if Helena came home with her – especially since Claudia wouldn't be there.

She could call Pete for a ride, because Myka knew that he would crossly oblige to escorting both of them home, but he was really excited about rejoicing in his victory, and he had definitely earned it, so Myka didn't want to deprive him of the celebration. Plus, that would still leave Helena stranded without a car, come morning, and no way to return to it.

Myka considered the bus, but she wasn't very keen on the notion of sending Helena off alone, particularly not with all of the rowdy students on board bursting with pride at their team's success, who were no doubt cramming the long vehicles to nearly full capacity. And she wasn't even sure that Helena lived anywhere near the bus route, anyway.

"You're cogitating quite loudly, darling," Helena observed cheerily. "What thoughts are traipsing through that brilliant mind of yours, hm?"

"Just thinking about how you're going to get home," Myka said, trying for an easy shrug, but casting an uncertain glance at her companion, deliberately ignoring the way that she'd so abruptly and senselessly grown fond of the word 'cogitating,' and the almost sensual manner in which it had rolled off of Helena's tongue.

"I'm in no rush to get back," Helena dismissed casually. "And what of you? How shall you be returning?"

"My house is a couple blocks away," Myka laughed, shaking her head. "I'm not too worried about me."

"Marvelous!" Helena declared, and her face broke way for a splitting, shattering grin that had Myka feeling woozy and clumsy for a long, long time, and she was pretty sure that her knees were crumbling under the weight of her, which felt awfully strange, because she was almost positive that she usually managed to keep herself upright just fine, but she couldn't quite remember how. And Myka was certain that she couldn't be reduced to anything less than she was in that moment, affected so by Helena's elation and tripping almost unnoticeably over her own feet, only taking small comfort from the fact that Helena was stumbling a bit, too. But then Helena continued, and earnestly probed, "Would you be terribly opposed to a bit of company, darling?"

And Myka found that she could definitely, definitely be reduced to less, because she was suddenly convinced that she was lighter than air and might just float away, and the atoms and molecules and particles that made her whole and held her together felt like they were breaking apart.

But, "Sure," she husked finally, despite that she vaguely recalled nixing that idea when it had occurred to her moments before. "Yeah, that'd be fun."

When, really, Myka wasn't confident that it would be fun at all. In fact, she was almost certain that it would be nothing short of tortuous, but she wasn't very willing to sacrifice Helena's continued company, even if it did cost Myka her sanity, so agreeing seemed like the right thing to do.

"Wonderful," Helena susurrated, pleased, and tucked her cheek against Myka's shoulder, allowing Myka to guide her. But Myka wasn't so sure that it was the smartest thing that Helena could've done, because, though she supposed that some corner of her mind – a very, very small corner, that maybe wasn't drunk on adrenaline and vodka and _Helena _– could steer her home, she felt pretty directionless in that moment and couldn't particularly bring herself to care.

When they finally made it to Myka's front door twenty minutes (and a good number of almost-accidents) later, Helena abruptly drew short at the sidewalk and cocked her head to the left a bit, evaluating the townhouse before her with keen, bright eyes, like she was dismantling it one red brick at a time.

"This is your home?" Helena asked some moments later.

"Yeah," Myka nodded, fumbling with her keys and squinting down at them, because her perception wasn't all that great, and she wasn't entirely sure that her house key was even on this chain anymore, because none of those keys looked right, but – oh. Yes, there. There it was, and she plucked it triumphantly between her thumb and index finger, absently ghosting her palm against Helena's leather-covered back, insistently encouraging her up the two short steps to the door.

"Come on," Myka murmured, and she might've bent a little too close to Helena's neck to convey that directive, but her heart flapped a little when she noted that Helena had – for the first time since Myka had met her – pinked a little, and, God, if it wasn't the prettiest thing that Myka had ever seen in her life. But before she would allow herself to think much on it, she straightened her back, and added, "I have Grey Goose inside."

"Lovely," Helena beamed, but when Myka spared a glance over at her, there was definitely some sort of mischief gleaming in those striking eyes of hers, and Myka wasn't too sure what it meant, but she knew she was in trouble, regardless.

It took some work, but Myka eventually managed to jam the key into the lock and twist, holding the screen door open for Helena and motioning her inside.

"How chivalrous of you," Helena jibed delightedly, but Myka rolled her eyes and gave her a little nudge when the British woman stared at Myka for just one uncomfortably stifling moment too long. Helena chuckled before she bowed her head in an apology that seemed a little lacking in the sincerity department, Myka thought, but Helena then obligingly treaded across the threshold, only faltering a little over the thin metal bar that divided Myka's living room carpet from the porch outside.

"It's charming, Myka," Helena voiced softly upon entry, but Myka was pretty sure that Helena's wasn't talking about her house at all, because her eyes were fixed firmly on Myka's, and Myka was powerless against the flush that blazed over her cheeks under the scrutiny of those molten chocolate eyes.

And then she promptly muttered, "Thanks," but fidgeted slightly and fluttered her hand weakly through the air, indicating the path to the kitchen. "Do you want a drink?"

"Mm," Helena hummed contently, effectively communicating her assent, but she looked rather satisfied, Myka thought, and she struggled a little, because Helena's eyes were shamelessly scraping down Myka's slender frame, and Myka felt like she was being devoured whole.

So she meandered in the direction of the refrigerator with Helena trailing less than a foot behind her, considering that it was a much better option than scrambling for any kind of remark in response to the visual assessment that Helena had just blatantly conducted of her. Upon arrival, Myka tugged the freezer open, removing the promised bottle of liquor from the shelf in the door.

"I have cranberry juice and coke," Myka told her guest, curving her neck to regard Helena over her shoulder. "Which do you prefer?"

"Juice," Helena requested, but that sexy smirk had made a quick return, and Myka summarily ducked her face into the fridge, feebly hoping that the cool air inside would scrub the redness from her cheeks.

And then she set the juice container on the counter, moving to the left a bit and stretching up on the tips of her toes to snatch a shot glass from the top shelf of the cabinet. Myka thought she might've heard a small intake of air from behind her, but when she furrowed her brows and rotated to be sure that Helena was alright, she was met with an oddly contrite-looking smile and warm brown eyes, and Myka wasn't really sure what that meant. So she returned to her drink-making task, and dutifully handed Helena the concocted beverage once she'd finished.

"Thank you, darling," Helena said, shucking her jacket and folding it sloppily, before setting it on the counter and appreciatively accepting the glass that had been offered to her. Myka watched her mouth fold over the lip of the glass, drawing in a healthy sip, and did the same, because her choices were pretty limited to either gulping in the liquid that was tightly clutched in her grasp, or gulping down an awkward bubble of air, because, damn it, those lips were just perfect.

"This is much better than the cheap liquor your dear friend Steve provided," Helena laughed.

Myka chuckled, boosting herself onto the counter with a shake of her head, making some weak attempt to lift the shroud that seemed to be fogging up her mind, before she informed, "Steve hates to spend money on alcohol. He says it's stupid for college kids to waste much needed cash on liquor when they're going to get so drunk that they won't remember how it tastes, anyway."

"Well, I'm more than a little pleased that your thoughts on that subject differ," Helena winked, lifting her drink in salute to Myka's apparently decent palate.

But Myka shrugged, and latched onto a curl that was irritatingly buzzing against her cheek, curving it behind her ear. And the motion had been rather thoughtless, really, because Myka's hair was always getting in her way, but she could see Helena's eyes tracking the movement with intent that Myka had never seen before, on anyone, and the knuckles of Myka's opposite hand paled under the authority of fingers that reflexively tensed around her glass.

"I don't really drink very much," Myka breathed, and she was a little shocked at how husky and low her voice was when it emerged, because she was trying so very hard to ignore the tension that, despite her best efforts, only seemed to be increasing. "And on the occasion that I want to, I'd like it to taste nice," she finished valiantly.

But Helena didn't reply, and Myka wasn't sure what it was, exactly, that flitted through Helena's mind, but she was suddenly very, very certain that it was positively filthy, because Helena's eyes unambiguously dilated and dimmed until they were nothing but shadowy pools of black, and Myka could see her reflection in the pupils of Helena's darkened orbs.

Her new friend – and Myka settled on the term, even though it felt decidedly inadequate right in that moment – downed two large swallows of her beverage before setting it atop the counter with a soft clink, and then Helena… well, she just _prowled_, shifting closer, and closer still, until the idea of boundaries was nothing but a theoretical concept that Helena evidently had very little care for, and Myka felt crowded – so, so crowded, and dizzyingly warm all over, lowering her head to watch the woman as she invaded Myka's senses and stole away every thought that might have been left behind to consider anything outside of Helena.

And Helena breathed, "Myka," in that heady, distinct British lilt, and the two syllables of her name folded erotically off of Helena's tongue, hot clouds of air whispering across the already heated flesh of Myka's jaw, and her stomach compressed and distorted and burrowed away somewhere deep inside, because Helena's tone was low and hot, and Myka felt trapped, but Helena wasn't even touching her.

And then she was, quick, agile fingers closing around each of Myka's thighs, driving them apart, and they fell away with embarrassing ease. Then Helena effortlessly shifted herself between them, but Myka was sure that she wouldn't have done it if she'd had any awareness at all about the way that Myka's head was spinning, because it was almost violent in its swiveling persistence, and she thought she might faint.

Then came the coup de grace, and Myka was just finished.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Myka," Helena murmured seductively, fingers tightening over Myka's legs, and she was pretty sure that she could feel Helena's nails nipping into her skin even through the material of her jeans.

But Helena's courtesy or patience or _whatever_ clearly only extended so far as to give warning, because Myka didn't even have time to nod her shaky consent, let alone give voice to it, before a hot, demanding mouth covered her own, and then it was lips and tongue and clattering teeth, and Myka couldn't think, and she just didn't _care_, because if this was what heaven felt like, Myka would follow the letter of the bible to a 'T,' in spite of the fact that she considered herself a moderately devout atheist.

Myka set her glass to the counter behind her with a less than dignified clatter, carrying her hands through that shimmering, glossy hair that was impossibly _just_ as soft as it had looked, and tangling determined digits through the silky strands at the base of Helena's neck. The heel of her opposite hand tucked firmly against Helena's temple as her fingers seized Helena's hair like it would dwindle into nothingness if she loosened her hold.

That action apparently appealed to Helena's desires, because she moaned something deep and guttural into Myka's mouth that hummed and reverberated and whirred down the length of her throat, and there were hands that moved nimbly up her thighs, meeting with her waist and dancing around until they settled at the lowest vertebra of her spine, tugging, tugging, and Myka complied, lowering herself with more grace than she'd felt capable of until her feet made contact with the floor. And then Helena was steering her, and Myka had no idea where, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all, because Helena's tongue was searing against the roof of her mouth, and Myka was trying desperately to catch up to it, giving chase until that ever-evasive tongue receded back to the mouth that it belonged in, and Myka cornered it with a lustful lick. And then she was falling, or being shoved, and she was on her back on the living room sofa with lean legs straddling one of her thighs and lips connecting back with her own before she'd even had time to grieve their absence.

Myka brought her hands to the edge of Helena's shirt, dipping her hands beneath the fabric to touch pale, warm flesh, and, _God_, this woman felt incredible, and Myka was suddenly needy and fervent and fraught with want. She felt the soft material of Helena's top brushing the backs of her knuckles, and it scrunched when Myka's hands shifted up, abrading the length of Helena's torso until she could cradle Helena's ribs in her palms.

Helena gasped sharply, and her mouth tore away from Myka's just long enough for Myka to catch a glimpse of wild, impassioned eyes framed by tangled, sexy hair and think to herself that no other being on this earth could possibly rival this woman's beauty. But then there were lips on her neck and Myka groaned, the tips of her nails foraging into Helena's flesh as she clamped her teeth a little more roughly than she'd intended into the uncovered skin over Helena's shoulder.

Helena breathed her name again, lips quivering and scraping beneath Myka's ear, and the hot expulsion of air hovered delightfully over _that spot_ – that soft, sensitive spot that simultaneously rendered Myka weak and invincible, and something merciless and frenzied spawned tight in her gut.

Her hands curved down the dip in Helena's back, and lower still, until she could tuck them into the back pockets of Helena's jeans, and she hugged the soft flesh with demanding fingers, and a shuddered sigh told Myka that she had just done something very, very right. And she could speedily discern why, because the motion sank Helena's core tightly against Myka's leg, and then Helena's knee was flexing, and Myka all but sobbed at the synchronized sensation of relief and the unrelenting need for more; more touching, more kissing, more contact, more _Helena_.

And she received it, too, because Helena's tongue flitted once more over that vulnerable flesh under her ear while her right hand swept across Myka's shirt with vengeance and cradled her breast, pausing for one ridiculously tantalizing moment before offering a squeeze, and Helena purred with satisfaction when Myka keened throatily in answer.

"Helena," she breathed, darting her tongue out to taste the stretch of skin behind Helena's auricle, and the woman's body just quaked, hard and unapologetic above her, and Myka wanted more of that – so much more of that. Myka wanted all of that. So she murmured again, "Helena," and sharply closed her teeth over the bend of Helena's ear.

Then there was a hoarse, "Fuck," whimpered into Myka's neck, and Myka was sure that no sound had ever been so delicious in the history of _forever_. But then Myka carried Helena's hips downward until her center crudely met with Myka's thigh again, and she was proven so very wrong, because Helena whined, "Myka," and it was a dangerous warning and an engaging dare all at once, and that sound was _so much better._

Myka panted, hard and humid against Helena's flesh, but even as she nipped at the cord of muscle that spanned between Helena's neck and shoulder, she thought that there was maybe something she should be heeding to in that warning. And she'd never been more reluctant in her entire life, but… but Helena had just moved here, and she didn't have friends in the area – _or_, Myka thought, _any friends at all_. And it wasn't fair, and Myka hated that the thought had surfaced, but she was pretty sure that she shouldn't be taking advantage of their inebriation like this, and she didn't want Helena to feel weird about it later, and she certainly didn't want that inevitable awkwardness to cost either of them what was looking to be a very close friendship.

But Helena's tongue caressed down her neck, and there was an openmouthed kiss against Myka's exposed collarbone, and Myka almost forgot about those cumbersome thoughts, so she moaned, her lips buzzing with unmistakable arousal against Helena's shoulder, and she could even _feel_ the smirk as it formed above the flesh that shielded Myka's heart. Then Helena's thumb brushed over the material of shirt and bra, locating and summarily teasing the already pointed nipple beneath with startling ease.

And, damn it, why wouldn't her vexing conscience just _croak_ already, because this was just brutal and cruel and unjust, but Myka swallowed once, and then twice, and her fingers gripped hard on Helena's hips with a weak push upward, despite that every fiber of her being ached to pull her closer. God, Myka wanted her so close that she could crawl inside her, if she wanted, and she could barely fathom that she was driving her away.

"Helena," she managed, but Helena only hummed in reply, shifting to Myka's shoulder again, so Myka pushed her palms upward once more and screwed her eyes shut, scrounging every notion of why this had to stop from the confused edges of her mind, still unable to help the hard expulsion of a sigh as Helena closed her teeth over Myka's neck and sucked, hard.

"Helena," she tried again, and it was a desperate whimper, but something in it caught Helena's attention, because the muscles in her arm flexed as she put pressure on the hand that was braced above Myka's head in order to lift herself, and Myka almost whimpered again as dark, lusty brown eyes searched out her own. No, she was pretty sure that she did whimper, actually.

But Myka could see the arousal in Helena's eyes making way for concern, and Myka breathed hard, and swallowed again, because she'd only gotten so far as _why_ they needed to stop, and hadn't really thought much on the _how_ of it. Words were failing her, she realized as her lips separated in an effort to speak, but nothing emerged, so she closed her mouth again and drew her lip between her teeth. And then she tossed her head back against the cushion under her and just groaned – noisily – because she'd had a lot of crappy things happen in her life, but this was just _devastating_. And Helena's hips had settled back against Myka's as she'd eased backward, and that was just so… _good_. And Myka wanted it. Badly. And for some stupid, stupid reason, she just couldn't let herself have it, and it left her feeling outlandishly like she was in mourning, and she only wanted to cry.

"Have I been too presumptuous with you, darling?" Helena inquired softly, but it was shaky, and despite that Myka could still hear the heat that surged beneath it, Helena sounded _ashamed_. And Myka wasn't sure what it was that encouraged the idea, but she thought that there was maybe more to that tone than what was happening between the two of them right now, but she would worry about that later.

Because whether she had to refuse the sex that had pretty much been offered to her on a silver platter or not, Myka just wouldn't have Helena thinking that she had done something wrong.

So she rapidly insisted, "No. God, no. I want you," she admitted shyly but firmly, and persisted through the flush that crept up her neck. "I want you so much, Helena. But –" and she swallowed once more, her fingers instinctively offering a comforting squeeze to Helena's hips, "But I think… I think we shouldn't. Not now. Because – well, _because_," she struggled breathily, and Helena's hips were shifting and she was sitting up, bemused, and her hair was a mess, and her lips looked positively _ravished_, and, God, Myka hated this so much. "Because you're my friend," she huffed. "And because we're drunk – we're really, really drunk, Helena, and if… if this happens, you should… you know, be able to decide. With a clear head. And – and I don't want… It's just that – "

Myka almost sighed her relief at being interrupted, because her half-sentences were barely even making sense to _her_, and she couldn't expect Helena to receive any sort of coherence from the babble that had just escaped her throat. And the sweet, sweet kiss that pressed against her mouth was particularly soothing, despite that it felt sort of bizarre in comparison to the frantic, busy kisses that they'd shared before, so Myka captured Helena's bottom lip with her own, before Helena pulled away.

And the tender smile that she was greeted with upon widening her eyes nearly destroyed her, because even though she felt like she couldn't possibly have committed any greater sin outside of terminating their impromptu make-out session, Helena was just glowing, and teeming with affection, and Myka felt winded.

"What – ?" Myka started, but shook her head and tried again. "What did I do to earn that?"

She was pretty sure that her bewilderment was evident, but she couldn't bring herself to care, because next she knew, Helena was hovering over her and ghosting a kiss over Myka's cheek. And then Helena softly whispered against it, "Nobility has not yet been diminished from this world."

And Myka was positive that she'd never received such a sincere compliment in her life.

"Thank you, Myka."

But Helena was being so understanding and grateful, and Myka wasn't sure how to express her own appreciation for the fact that Helena was making this as easy for her as possible, but she lifted her hand from Helena's waist and caught Helena's wrist in her palm, bringing the pads those quick, nimble fingers to her mouth and pressing a long kiss against them as she struggled to hold on to her rationality.

And Helena's eyes watered a little, so Myka was fairly confident that she'd succeeded in relaying the thoughts that she couldn't give voice to, so she released Helena's hand while she lifted her hips a little to grapple for the phone that had been trapped beneath them in her back pocket.

"What are you doing, darling?" Helena asked, brows furrowing worriedly.

"Ordering pizza," Myka pronounced, reclaiming jurisdiction over her tongue as the phone echoed a ring in her ear. "We should eat. And you still can't drive, so I'm pretty sure that you're staying here tonight – which is going to be pretty much impossible," she sighed in frustration, sweeping her hair back with a quick tug of her fingers, "but it's already," and she pulled her phone away to check the time, noting with no small amount of surprise that it was already past twelve, "it's already midnight," she continued, "and we're going to make it work."

"I fear you have too much confidence in my restraint, Myka," Helena chuckled deeply.

And despite that Myka was really, really happy that she was amused, as opposed to being wounded or angry, Myka scowled playfully in reply, tapped Helena lightly on the ass, and affably instructed, "Behave."

Then she placed the order for their pizza when a man's voice began to speak, smiling as Helena remained stationed above her, regarding Myka with easy affection and good humor.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note:_ It's shorter, I know - particularly in comparison to the length of the last chapter - but this was the best place to cut it off! Don't be angry. : (

* * *

"Did we not just watch this?" Helena questioned with a laugh, a slice of pizza cradled in her right palm and hanging but an inch from her mouth, where its journey had been unceremoniously paused so that she could voice her inquiry.

"We watched the third one," Myka corrected, chuckling, and then offered Helena a paper plate to place her food on.

Helena promptly waved it away, grinning affectionately as an endearingly exasperated sigh puffed from Myka's mouth before she reluctantly deposited the plate on the coffee table beside the box of pizza.

But Helena had nowhere to put a plate, really. She supposed that she could make some room, but that would involve moving away from Myka a bit, and Helena was quite snug just where she was. She was facing a bit slantways, with her right shoulder brushing against the back cushion of the couch, and one leg folded comfortably beneath her, foot tucked under her bum. Her opposite leg was draped blithely over Myka's left knee, and, even without the occasional, absurdly warm grip that Myka's fingers took over her thigh, Helena felt that the position was gratifyingly intimate, even if such contact was a bit foreign to her, and she had no desire to shift from it.

It had been a solid half hour, at least, since Myka had put a stop to their rather passionate necking on the sofa, and, though Helena was more sexually frustrated than she could remember being in her entire life, she also felt flattered beyond reason. Helena wasn't sure that she'd ever been interested in anyone who, in such a thoroughly inebriated state, was still considerate enough to take her intoxication into account the way that Myka had.

Helena was, admittedly, still fairly drunk, but she was not (and had not been) so far gone that she could not have given her consent. But despite that _she_ knew she'd been bouncing around notions of taking Myka to bed since the moment that they'd met, perhaps giving or taking a few seconds at most, Myka had no way of knowing that.

And Helena knew that Myka had wanted to push forward just as badly as she had, so the kindness and concern with which Myka had halted their ardor had rendered Helena all but speechless. She nearly couldn't fathom Myka's insistence to discontinue, purely in favor of awaiting Helena's sobriety and unequivocal approval, all while scarcely reflecting upon her own potential lack of ability to give the same.

Helena had nearly cried when Myka had eventually succeeded in stumbling over her reasoning, pleating her soft lips over Helena's fingertips with penetrating tenderness that Helena had never before been graced with. Helena had swiftly reined that tearful affair into submission, but even still… Myka could simply have no idea about how much that simple action had meant to Helena. That she'd been able to observe how much evident effort it had taken Myka to do it only left Helena feeling that much more besotted with the woman.

So instead of sobbing out her defeat to the heavens, Helena had gratefully, and in no uncertain terms, expressed her appreciation, and had then allowed Myka to situate them on the sofa to settle in for a film. But they'd hardly been able to keep an inch from one another since; Myka had steadfastly refused to relinquish her hold on Helena's hand when they'd returned to the kitchen to retrieve their abandoned beverages, and Helena had even rested her chin on Myka's shoulder, folding her arms around the other woman's waist while Myka chatted amiably with the deliveryman and paid for their meal.

All of that touching made the task of _not_ devouring Myka incredibly difficult – nigh impossible, really – but, by unspoken agreement, neither of them could seem to deny themselves the fluttering contact.

Besides, even if she wasn't going to have the privilege of seeing Myka divested of her clothing tonight, the cuddling was heartwarming and satisfying in its own right, and Helena couldn't have resisted that much even if she'd tried.

"How many bloody Harry Potter movies are there?" Helena asked eventually, feeling a bit proud of herself, honestly, because she'd managed to resume her line of questioning with ease that one in such an affected state should simply not be able to achieve.

"Eight," Myka answered, casting a glance in her direction like it was positively the most absurd question that she'd ever heard.

"There are only seven books," Helena mentioned, finally tearing a bite from her pizza.

And she subsequently almost groaned, because she hadn't realized quite how hungry she'd been until she'd tasted the succulent flavors on her tongue, but now she was purely _famished_.

"Yeah," Myka verified with a nod, "but they split the last one into two parts for the movie," she informed, and then laughed incredulously. "Seriously? These were all filmed _and_ released in England," Myka continued playfully. "I really don't think there's any excuse for you not to know that."

Helena merely shrugged, and offered her most charming grin.

The books had been intriguing, yes – and the wild, invigorating world that Rowling had created was, indeed, quite magical in every sense of the word, but she'd watched the first film and had been flagrantly offended by the lack of detail incorporated, so she hadn't bothered to watch the others. And Christina was still a bit young for them, so she'd had no reason (until now) to subject herself to that particular brand of agony.

The details were _essential_, after all.

"I've read the books," Helena alleged haughtily. "That has to count for something, yes?"

"I guess," Myka snorted, taking a bite of her own wedge of pizza, and summarily returning it to her treasured paper plate. She then wiped her fingers on a napkin and covered Helena's knee with her palm, offering a warm squeeze that had Helena vibrating with contentment, before Myka proceeded to explain, "ABC Family has marathon days where they play all the Harry Potter movies in a row. It's really annoying, though, because sometimes they switch around the lineup so that they aren't in order."

"Mm, yes," Helena hummed amusedly, "and you, Myka Bering, are certainly one for order, aren't you?"

Myka flushed, embarrassed, but protectively chided, "Don't judge!" And then impishly poked Helena in the shoulder, divulging, "I wouldn't make it through half of my classes without serious organizational skills, so my need for order is beneficial, at least."

"Nonsense," Helena dismissed, attempting a wave of her hand to accompany her sentiment, but indulging in another mouthful of her pizza when it flopped hazardously with the motion. The horrified look on Myka's face after witnessing the could-have-been catastrophe, however, was nothing short of humorous, so, to relieve her new friend and almost lover of her concern for the furniture, Helena laughed her amusement and picked up a fallen pepperoni from her jean-clad thigh, teasingly tucking it into her cheek with a less-than-innocent, entirely unnecessary suckle on her finger. She smirked something caught between satisfaction and pride when a blush blazed over Myka's neck and chest, and then she supplemented her action with an even more unnecessary flick of her tongue across her lips (because she was intoxicated, and simply unable to help herself, Helena would defend if asked). But when Myka's breathing staggered, Helena elected to spare her the indignity of endeavoring to reply, and eventually continued, "You're brilliant of your own accord, Myka. I doubt that your organization plays much into it at all."

The deepening color in Myka's cheeks and the awkward shuffling of her hips had Helena lifting a fascinated brow, but she suspected that not all of Myka's discomfort came from her rather crude oral demonstration, so she frowned, and inquired softly, "Surely you're aware of your own intellect, Myka?"

"I guess," Myka breathed, shrugging.

Helena scoffed and summarily plummeted her pizza into the box on the table, before turning to regard Myka with conviction that, just for a moment, even surprised Helena. "You are brighter than any of the students I encountered at Cambridge, darling, and I'm certain that your intelligence surpasses even a decent number of the professors commissioned at this comparatively quaint university."

"Thanks," Myka mumbled in reply, but she was looking at Helena like she had developed an extra appendage, and it hurt Helena's heart a little that Myka thought the very idea of anyone praising her mind to be so ludicrous.

"Why do you doubt yourself so, love?" She queried morosely, clasping her fingers beneath Myka's jaw and caringly tracing her pizza-greased thumb over that overpoweringly talented, magnificent mouth.

Myka shrugged again and averted her eyes. "It's – I'm just not used to…" Myka tried, but trailed off helplessly, slicing her slender fingers through the air for wont of something to do with her hands, before both of them plunged back through thick, curly hair. "It's nothing," Myka concluded quietly, finally returning her gaze to Helena's. But Helena was sure that Myka was met with grief and bemusement, and she simply couldn't wash those emotions away, because it made her so very _sad_ that such a simple compliment was so difficult for Myka to accept. "Just… thank you," Myka finished sincerely.

And Helena could easily derive, both from her tone and the look on Myka's face, that Myka was, indeed, incredibly appreciative – but Helena couldn't quite discern why such an easy and obvious accolade would have Myka so off-kilter. But pushing that line of conversation didn't seem appropriate for the moment, and Helena wasn't precisely sure that she could carry her end of that discussion with the devotion that she would have intended, due to her drunkenness, so Helena offered an indulgent smile and leaned forward to kiss Myka's cheek. Myka's fingers, however, circled around her wrist, her face turning to rally her mouth over Helena's own, instead, and Helena moaned, the noise an evident reflection of both her shock and her not-quick-to-stifle desire.

Then Myka's mouth was gone, and when Helena's eyes parted open, she was met with a warm smile that expressed so many things that Helena's inebriated brain couldn't even begin to conceive, so she elected not to try, just yet.

"Well," Helena huffed, which was actually more of a pant, to Helena's great embarrassment – because, though that kiss had been short and breathy and relatively simple, it had left Helena decidedly and irrefutably breath_less_ and a little lightheaded, too. And the kiss suddenly seemed much more complex than she'd originally thought. But she urged herself to complete her sentence, nevertheless, and sighed, "That was just bloody cruel of you, wasn't it, darling?"

Myka laughed, and shrugged sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. And besides, you started it with that pepperoni thing," she huffed, gesturing toward the offending piece of nourishment on the table, but inexplicably, immeasurably softening moments later, before she muttered, "And you're just so…"

"What?" Helena demanded playfully, chortling and leaning forward to reclaim her pizza, internally conceding that perhaps she _had_ deserved that little tease after the stunt that she had pulled earlier, and even applauding Myka a bit for retaliating.

Myka shook her head and tucked her lips between her teeth, but a smile still curved at the edges of her mouth, and Helena was instantly enchanted.

"Go on then," Helena urged incorrigibly. "What am I, Myka?"

"Sweet," Myka susurrated finally, that tender smile never once slipping away from her expression. "You're very sweet, Helena."

But Helena laughed again, and swore, "Now, that is a descriptor not often employed to define me, love."

"I don't care," Myka declared simply, reaching for her plate and nibbling at her snack. "I think you're sweet," she resolved, like it was the easiest thing in the world for her to conclude.

And Helena felt flattered once more by Myka's easy praise.

"Thank you, darling," she murmured, smiling fondly at her unaware companion, who had shifted her eyes back to the television. "But I think you're far sweeter than I," she announced decisively, with a hint of mischief added for good measure.

Myka rolled her eyes and nudged her shoulder, but a second helping of pizza each and ten minutes later, Myka curled her legs up onto the couch and snuggled into Helena's side with an indiscreet and utterly satisfied purr, and Helena thought that was very sweet, indeed.

* * *

Helena didn't wake when morning broke. And she still didn't wake when her internal alarm demanded that she creak her eyes apart at eight that morning – at least not fully.

She was, however, aware of her surroundings long enough to ascertain that she and Myka had fallen asleep on the living room sofa, and that she was still sitting upright, with Myka's head resting tranquilly in Helena's lap and her knees bent up on the cushions. She absently stroked her fingers through Myka's hair once, then twice, and left her right hand buried within the curls as she propped her opposite elbow against the armrest, leaning her head upon the heel of her hand before she drifted back to sleep.

When she awoke next, it was only due to the fact that the couch was bouncing around a bit, but Helena was groggy and her head hurt, so she only got so far as to be sure that Myka was still comfortably situated against her thighs before she closed her eyes once more.

Then, with confusion and bleariness some time later, Helena heard chatter.

"When did you get in?" That was Myka. Even after such a short time, Helena was certain that she would know that voice anywhere. But sleepy and hoarse, Helena thought it was unbelievably more sensual, somehow, and her stomach quivered.

"Early," Claudia's voice replied. "So early. God, I'm so hungover, Mykes," the girl whined, and Helena chuckled a little before cringing at the pressure that the effort put on her head.

When her eyelids fluttered open of their own accord – because Helena certainly had no control over it, and if she did, she would never have exposed herself to the oppressive sunshine that was creeping through the large windows of their living room – Helena found Myka looking up at her with amusement and sympathetic concern.

"Sorry," Myka rasped. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"My bad," Claudia groaned, and when Helena turned to find her voice, she lifted her brow, because Claudia was somehow scrunched up on the sofa, as well, with her head tucked against Myka's calf. "But, guys," Claudia sighed, screwing her eyes shut, "I'm _so_ hungover. I think I'm gonna puke. Not now, but soon. I think. Maybe. I might still be drunk."

"Shall we fetch you a trash bin?" Helena inquired with faux earnestness and more than a little bite, but schooled her expression back to neutral when Myka glanced up disapprovingly.

"This is why we don't let you drink, Claude," Myka chastised on a murmur, but Helena saw her fingers drag through Claudia's hair indulgently, anyway, and she thought the gesture very kind and just a bit adorable.

"I know," Claudia lamented. "But it was so fun…"

"Right up until it wasn't, darling?" Helena inquired knowingly, allowing for a small smile that Claudia ruefully returned.

"Dude. Yeah," Claudia agreed fervently, and then paled and promptly folded her fingers over her mouth.

"Bathroom," Myka ordered, stretching her arm out and drawing her index finger to a point. "Now, Claude. I'll bring you some water."

Claudia apparently didn't need to be told twice, because she bolted from the couch and locked herself behind the door to the loo. The sounds of violent retching could be heard even from their position on the couch.

"The wonders of roommates," Helena remarked, coating the short sentiment with sarcasm.

Myka rolled her eyes, but shifted around so that she could hold Helena's gaze. Helena observed her with the weariness and bemusement that only a late night of alcoholic indulgences could provide, but tried to push through it and give Myka the confidence or approval that she was searching for. She succeeded, apparently, because Myka hesitantly leaned forward to catch the corner of Helena's mouth in a delicate kiss.

"Hi," Myka murmured shyly.

"Good morning," Helena smiled, more than a bit pleased and even more surprised. She'd had half a mind to believe that Myka's passion the night before would give way to awkwardness, come morning; she was happier than she could properly express to see that she'd been incorrect.

"I have to get her some water," Myka reminded softly. "But… we should talk. Right? I mean," Myka tried, her hands fidgeting nervously, but Helena thought it was the cutest thing she'd seen since Christina had greeted her at the door last Thursday with red popsicle stains smeared across her face, and her hair sopping wet after an afternoon playing in the blowup pool that she'd demanded Sophie prepare for her, "if you don't want to talk, we could… not. But – "

"Darling," Helena mercifully interrupted, lowering her palm to cover Myka's side, and tightening her fingers comfortingly over the soft flesh of her lower back, "you and I shall, indeed, be having a very serious discussion about last night's escapades. But, for the moment, suffice it to say that I want very much to try it again, under less inebriated circumstances. Alright?"

But Myka beamed, and Helena was sure that it was brighter than that damned sunlight that she couldn't seem to avoid, but this didn't hurt at all. That smile wound itself around Helena's heart and hugged, warm and sweet and gentle, until Helena could feel nothing of that bloody hangover, and could think of nothing but the stunning creature that rested half on top of her.

"Alright," Myka breathed, flushing pink. "Yeah. Sure. Good. That's good."

Helena chuckled. "Good, then," she teased playfully, sweeping her hand down to Myka's arse and impishly proffering a squeeze. "You'd best be off to the kitchen, hm? I do believe Claudia's in need of your assistance."

"Right," Myka nodded, rising to her feet and combing her hair back, before effortlessly snapping it into a ponytail with the band around her wrist.

The motion, however, exposed the long, slender column of Myka's neck, and Helena snorted upon receiving a proper view.

"Ah – It might be best if you sneaked a look in the mirror while you're in there, darling. I'm afraid you might need a bit of cover-up for that bruise," she advised, brushing her fingers over the corresponding area of her own neck where she'd spotted the score on Myka's.

"About that," Myka said, moving toward the kitchen and calling over her shoulder sheepishly. "I think you might have access to my dental records… There's a pretty defined teeth mark on your shoulder."

Helena tilted her head at an awkward angle to catch a glimpse of the aforementioned shadow, and lifted her brow amusedly once more. "So there is," she chuckled, pleased. "I shan't complain, darling. For anything other than the fact that we were deprived of the opportunity to finish, of course," she quipped cheekily.

"Hey, last night I was _noble_," Myka reminded teasingly, hand flitting over the bathroom door with a glass of water held in the other.

"Noble, indeed, love," Helena chimed agreeably. "But no less frustrating."

"You're not the only one who's frustrated, y'know," Myka grumbled, ducking into the restroom.

Helena was fairly certain that she wasn't meant to hear it, but she laughed anyway, and muttered, "Well, we'll just have to do something about our mutual frustrations, won't we, Miss Bering?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note:_ *le sigh* Guys, it's my twenty-first birthday, and you know what my muse demanded? My muse demanded that I write _this_, instead of utilizing my valuable drinking time for its intended purpose. So, you know, give me some reviews to make me feel a little less mopey about it. Kay? :P

* * *

"Oh, Claude," Myka sighed sympathetically, stroking back locks of red hair as her small friend hugged the rim of the toilet seat. She stood briefly to retrieve the ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and proffered two of them to Claudia, who offered a feeble, but very grateful smile. Then, with frustration that Myka couldn't help, she muttered, "Steve and I are going to have a serious talk about drinking in moderation."

"I should've listened," Claudia bemoaned. "Sorry, Mykes…"

Myka chuckled softly and shook her head. "I was only trying to look out for you, Claude. You don't need to apologize for having fun. It's college; overindulging is practically mandatory, at least once or twice."

"Yeah, but you're _Myka_," Claudia rolled her eyes, and even that action looked weak, to Myka's perception, but that was probably because those dark eyes were framed by pale, clammy skin, and damp hair clung to the perspiration that decorated the line stretching from Claudia's temples down her throat. "You're _always_ right."

"Maybe about some things," Myka shrugged dismissively, handing Claudia the glass of water that she'd carried in with her. "But I come down a little harder on you, most of the time. I shouldn't, and I'm sorry. I just worry about you."

"I need all the worry I can get," Claudia mumbled, taking a healthy gulp of cool liquid and setting the glass on the tile beside her foot, "because obviously my self-preservation skills are seriously in need of an overhaul."

"I've got some to spare," Myka quipped.

Claudia attempted a worn smile, but sat up a little, and said, "I think I'm done. There can't actually be anything left in my stomach, now. I don't think. But I don't actually remember everything that I ate last night, so I could be wrong."

"Do you want to try and lay down?" Myka tried, but Claudia vehemently shook her head.

"Can we just sit, for another minute or sixty?" Claudia pleaded, and the widened, vulnerable brown eyes that pleaded from the floor had Myka all but melting with compassion, so she nodded indulgently and boosted herself up onto the sink counter, prepared to wait out the nausea with her young roommate.

"I'm sorry I'm taking you away from your lady friend," Claudia offered helplessly. "I know I'm being crazy selfish, but I think I'm still too drunk to care."

"She's not my – "

Claudia rolled her eyes again. "Please," she huffed indignantly, and Myka was only a little irritated with Claudia's knack for interruption while inebriated. "I might be younger than you, and maybe a lot inexperienced when it comes to drinking and dating and pretty much everything adult-like that lives outside of the cyber world, but even I could see the hardcore flirting going on at the tailgate. And, trust me, you don't want to know what Leena had to say about your auras once you were finally _at_ the game, because, Mykes, it's kinda embarrassing."

Myka flushed bright red, but sighed and shook her head. "I just met her a week ago, Claude," she pointed out evenly. "Not even that long, if we're being really technical."

"So?" Claudia prodded innocently. "That doesn't mean anything. And you guys were all cuddly and adorable when I came in this morning, so even if you did have sex last night, she obviously didn't feel like she needed to bolt off afterward."

"We didn't have sex," Myka expressed, groaning out the sentiment with more agony than she'd imagined she could feel. She'd thought it was awful and nearly catastrophic last night, but somehow it was worse confessing it to Claudia. And she felt a little guilty, too, because she always did when she discussed her sex life with the small redhead, but Claudia offered her the open ear that she often required when it came to those kinds of things, and – though she still teased Myka about it, most of the time – she did so at the appropriate junctures and knew when to knock it off, when Pete would have continued to harass her.

He was especially big on the harassing when it came to Myka and other _women_ involved in her sex life, so beyond mentioning that it had happened, Myka really didn't feel the need to offer any detail about the affair to her decidedly immature, if lovable best friend.

"Did you have not-sex that was almost-sex?" Claudia smirked, and when Myka's cheeks deepened with color and she failed to respond, Claudia cried out, "Hah! I knew it. Plus, that nice hickey on your neck _really _doesn't do you any favors, Mykes."

"She's still outside the door, you know," Myka reminded quietly, because Claudia's voice had climbed exponentially in volume with her exclamation, and she would so many kinds of _not _continue to have any part in this discussion if she so much as suspected that Helena could hear it. "I don't even know what happened," Myka admitted eventually, flailing her hands in the air in a gesture that purely reflected the utter sincerity that resided beneath that declaration. "One minute we were drunk and leaving the game, and next thing I know, she's asking to come over, and I'm making drinks, and she just flat out announces that she's going to kiss me. What was I supposed to do?" She whined helplessly, and she would worry about the lack of grace later, because she really had bigger things to deal with right now.

Claudia snorted. "Uh… I'm guessing she wanted you to kiss back, so… score for Mykes, right? Also, she's hot, so, you know… kissing back? Definitely a good idea."

Myka rolled her eyes. "That was definitely not the point that I was trying to make."

"No, but it's definitely _a_ point to make, plus it's also a bonus on the Bering & Wells pro-con list, right?" Claudia grinned.

Myka smiled affectionately, but shrugged noncommittally, and tentatively proffered, "I guess?"

"If she made it that easy for you, how come you didn't go for the home run, Mykes?" Claudia inquired curiously, and shifted around a little so that her head wasn't ducked quite so heavily over the toilet.

The distraction of conversation seemed to be helping Claudia's nausea a little, so Myka would be a bad friend if she didn't keep it up, right? She didn't need to talk about the infuriatingly attractive woman in her living room at all, and she was pretty sure she shouldn't even be _thinking_ about those warm brown eyes, or the even hotter hands that Helena was in possession of. And Myka definitely, definitely didn't need to be thinking about either of those body parts scouring down the length of her body, and devouring her whole with scarcely a second thought. No, Myka wouldn't go there.

Except, maybe she had gone there, and maybe she'd had to stifle a little moan because of the delicious picture that her mind manufactured with _maybe_ too much ease.

No, this whole thing was purely for Claudia's benefit. And Myka would persist in that belief until someone dared to challenge it.

"She doesn't really have friends," Myka sighed softly. "And we – she's – I think we're friends… I think we could be really good friends, Claude. I don't want to screw that up before it even has a chance to get off the ground. Especially not just because I got horny," she finished dryly, but a blush crept up her neck and Myka stoically decided to ignore it.

"Well, yeah, but… What if you could be _more_ than friends, and be really good at that, too?" Claudia probed. "'Cause, seriously, Leena said you guys had coffee on Monday for a while, and then there was the football game, so even if you _have_ only known her a week, that's still like… two dates."

"I don't think I'd call them that," Myka remarked skeptically. "Pete invited her to the game, and we only ran into each other at the coffee shop by accident."

"Mykes, seriously – trust me on this. We might have been there at the tailgate, but once she got there, you two were all about the eye sex, dude. And I don't mean that to be a not-so-stealthy way of telling you that you should pay more attention to us, because I think it's great. I'm just saying, it definitely counts as date-like. Especially since you two spent the whole time that we were there somehow having serious get-to-know-you conversations." And Claudia's face scrunched up before she demanded, "And how did you even _do _that? It was so frakkin' _loud_, Mykes. Although," the redhead considered pensively, "it probably has something to do with the fact that you two were practically sitting in each other's laps. And that was before the whole really _minor_ thing that involved me and Steve, you know… not being there anymore…" She trailed off sheepishly. "So I'm sure it got worse after we left," she finished decisively, evidently having gotten over her guilt for their pretty unceremonious ejection from the game.

"She's definitely not shy," Myka smiled bashfully, but she could even _feel_ the edges of it soften, because, though Helena had been very brazen and bold (and a bunch of other synonyms, probably also beginning with the letter 'b,' like maybe brave and beautiful and even a little brusque – but not _all _of those were exactly synonyms, Myka conceded), Helena had also been very sweet, and that was just as memorable.

"Uh… Nope, I'm pretty sure we can officially land on the _complete_ opposite side of the fence on that one," Claudia snorted.

"She says she wants to do it again," Myka confessed.

"Say yes," Claudia instructed.

"But – "

"No," Claudia dismissed swiftly. "Say yes. Seriously, Mykes – you deserve it. Have some fun. Get the girl, or whatever."

"Thanks, Claude," Myka murmured sincerely.

"Sure. But, you know…" Claudia raised her brows expectantly and gestured toward the door, "I kinda meant now."

Myka hesitated briefly, but she couldn't even _internally_ deny that she was pretty much chomping at the bit to get back to Helena (especially after all of the questions that this conversation had raised), so she only asked earnestly, "You'll be okay here?"

"For sure," Claudia nodded. "I'm gonna call Steve and bitch at him for letting me drink that whole _bottle_ of vodka. And I have my water and the magic headache medicine, so I'm good."

"Okay," Myka conceded, jumping the small distance from the counter to the floor. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will," Claudia promised, rolling her eyes, but the small, grateful smile that she wore told Myka that her exasperation was for show, and that her friend really did appreciate that Myka had taken care of her.

Myka returned the smile with an indulgent one of her own, and bent low to press a kiss to the crown of Claudia's flaming red hair, and she whispered, "Thanks, Claude."

"Any time. Hey, actually, bring me back a breakfast sandwich from the deli, if you stop?" She grinned. "I think I can eat now."

"Okay," Myka agreed with a chuckle, twisting the doorknob beneath her fingers and making for the stunning brunette creature that had drifted into a nearly comatose state on her couch.

The tender smile that graced Myka's lips upon spotting that eternally endearing image couldn't have been stopped by the Spartan army.

* * *

Myka had been a little disappointed when Helena had told her that she needed to get home – _Stop it, Bering,_ she'd chided herself, _she has a _life_, you know_ – but she understood and promptly offered to drive Helena back to her car. Helena had smiled something sincere and fond and just remarkably _happy_ in reply, and that almost – _almost, but not quite,_ Myka found herself musing – made up for the fact that she had to part from the woman's mesmerizing company. So, Myka had changed clothes and quickly met Helena back in the living room after snatching her car keys from the kitchen.

The keys hadn't quite made it onto the hook, Myka lamented privately, but at least they'd made it to the appropriate room. She wasn't sure she'd have been able to find them, otherwise.

Helena had held her hand and chatted with her for the duration of the small journey to the car, and Myka listened to her adorably prattle off all of the inane details that, by Helena's ardently expressed opinion, ought to have been included within the Harry Potter films that they'd watched the night before. Myka edged in a thought or two occasionally, but mostly she was just foolishly and insanely content to listen to Helena, and allowed her to continue her rant without interruption.

Once in the car, Helena had covered her hand over Myka's thigh, drawing a mostly inaudible gasp that swelled hard in Myka's chest. At least, Myka hoped it was inaudible – and, for just a second, she actually thought that it had been – but when she'd caught Helena's eye in the seconds following, Helena had smirked knowingly and tightened her fingers, but mostly drove her self-generated discussion forward.

And Myka was glad, because she wasn't sure that she could've presented anything beyond a stutter – especially not when the tips of Helena's fingers wove higher up her thigh and Myka's hands jerked reflexively on the steering wheel, veering them slightly off to the right (to Helena's chuckled amusement).

But Helena shifted over pretty far to the left of her seat, and, though Myka couldn't really get a good read on this woman _ever_, she was pretty sure that Helena wanted to be closer to her, and that made Myka smile, and she could feel that it was face-splitting and a little goofy, but she couldn't help it.

Myka's theory about closeness was supported a few minutes later as she watched Helena's eyes dim just a little as they drew closer to the parking garage where the Brit had left her Prius. When Myka parked and moved around the car to shut the door behind her companion, Helena leaned against the side of her SUV and smiled up at her, and Myka's breath – it did some really irregular things, and Myka was pretty sure that it would land her in the health center and _fast_ if she didn't find some way to whip it into control.

But when Helena's fingers tripped up the length of her stomach and she flattened her palm over Myka's heart, Myka submitted to the lightheadedness and swallowed thickly, reaching her own palm up to tentatively cover the back of Helena's neck.

"I," Helena murmured, lips dancing over Myka's in an endlessly enticing way that had her focusing more on the motions and less on the words departing as a result of them, "had a lovely evening with you, Myka Bering."

"Yeah," Myka breathed, and it was an inelegant and _painfully obvious_ 'whoosh' of air, but she nodded, anyway, and finished, "I did too. With you, I mean."

"I ought to be getting off now," Helena alleged softly, reluctantly, but a quick moment later, and she was smirking in an awfully filthy manner, Myka thought, before she corrected impishly, "or getting _home_, actually, as my attempts at the former were rather markedly denied."

"Noble," Myka huffed in reminder, but her cheeks felt hot, and her mind wondered how Helena would have looked if she _had_ gotten off the night before.

Because, God, Myka knew that would be a sight. Even drunk, Helena had looked magnificent – all wispy hair and frantic eyes, and her cheeks were flushed, and _Myka had done that to her_.

But she was interrupted from her fantasy by a sharp tug on her belt loop and an airy chuckle, a reward for her previous remark that teased hotly over Myka's mouth, and Myka thought her stomach just might have vacated her body altogether, because there was just no way that there was room for all that _fluttering_ if all of her body parts remained intact.

"So very noble, darling," Helena confirmed, but it was a whisper and a sigh, and it dripped with affection, and Myka's stomach was definitely all there, she was sure, because now – _now_ she could feel the butterflies batting hard wings against every part of her insides, and she felt a little queasy.

She shouldn't be feeling this much. She shouldn't be feeling this much for _anyone_, but she shouldn't be feeling this much for a British _stranger_, in particular, who'd only inserted herself into Myka's life so recently. But Helena didn't feel like a stranger. Helena felt familiar and maybe refreshing all at once, and like something Myka _knew_, but couldn't remember where from.

And Myka knew this was a dangerous game. She did. Because anything this intense just _had _to be dangerous. But she couldn't bring herself to quit.

Myka Bering was _not_ a quitter.

And, God, she wanted Helena Wells, too. She wanted that woman something _fierce_, something strong and desperate and relentless, and she really didn't need another reason to keep playing. That was plenty of reason enough, Myka supposed.

"We're still on for coffee, yes?" Helena inquired hopefully, eyes searching out Myka's, and Myka thought there was a little bit of insecurity in there somewhere, but she wasn't sure.

Whatever it was, she made haste in soothing it away.

"Yes," she nodded. "Definitely yes."

"Mm," Helena hummed delightedly. "Then I shall meet you at two, as agreed. And well ah – _talk_ then, hm?"

"Okay," Myka replied quietly, because there was no one around – they were completely alone in the twenty-minute parking lot outside the garage – but it seemed right, and this moment just seemed so _quiet_, so Myka didn't want to risk shattering it.

And whatever she'd done, she'd done it right, because then Helena's lips were pressing on hers, slow, but insistent – _and_, Myka thought with satisfaction, _quiet. _

But then she wasn't thinking at all, because there was a warm tongue swiping lazily across the length of her bottom lip, and, God, she wanted to taste it. So she did, parting her mouth and acquiescing – but to what, Myka wasn't exactly sure. Because if this was what a kiss was supposed to feel like, then Myka had been doing it _so wrong_.

It wasn't rushed, and it didn't have any purpose, really, except that it breathed of _I'll-miss-you_ and _you're-lovely_ and _I'll-see-you-soon_, and that seemed like a pretty good purpose in itself, so Myka melted beneath it (or atop it, she guessed, since she was taller), and folded into the British woman, nails clipping gently into smooth skin at Helena's neck. And when Helena eased back, she warmed her forehead against Myka's, tipping her chin up for a last, soft kiss that caught Myka on the cheek.

"Tomorrow," Helena promised.

"Tomorrow," Myka echoed, nodding, disentangling herself from the lean form beneath her, and, God, was it hard to do.

When Myka shifted around the car again and chanced a glance in the rear-view mirror, once settled in and buckled, Helena's face was turned over her shoulder, and there was a small, wistful smile that had Myka praying that the next twenty-four hours would go ahead and just _expire_.

But Myka had to shower and get to work, and she probably needed a few glasses of water, so – though she had a little time – she really had to do something with those pesky thoughts of sexy British accents and pretty red lips, painted across smooth, porcelain skin. And she had no idea how the hell she was supposed to manage that.

* * *

"Hello, darling," Helena smiled upon spotting her, but Myka frowned, because it looked a little worn at the edges, but Myka elected to greet her before launching into an interrogation.

"Hi," Myka replied, slipping her raincoat over her shoulders and shaking her damp hair out with her fingers. "Jeez, it's wet out there," she huffed, and would've corrected her blunder soon after, if Helena's lack of a play on it hadn't been more noticeable than the gaffe itself.

"Yes," Helena murmured in agreement. "Rather reminds me of England, actually," she mused thoughtfully.

Maybe that was why she seemed so sad today. Maybe Helena was homesick.

"I bought you a coffee," Helena informed, scooting the mentioned cup forward with a slight scrape across the table.

"Thanks," Myka smiled appreciatively, and circled her palms around the beverage instinctively. It wasn't terribly cold outside, but the torrential downpour she'd endured on the way in from the parking lot in conjunction with the slight breeze had her bones feeling a little chilled. "Do you miss it?" Myka asked earnestly. "England, I mean?"

Helena smiled indulgently. "Not in the least, I'm afraid. I never was much a fan of the rain."

Myka hesitated for a second – because Helena was in a strange mood today, and was barely any of the playful, teasing woman whom Myka had come to know – but she eventually reached across the table to cover Helena's idle palm with her hand. Helena didn't respond to the grip beyond glancing down at it for an entirely too short moment (Myka thought), but she wasn't sure what to make of that, so she tightened her fingers under Helena's palm and insecurely withdrew her own. She wouldn't admit it – not to Claudia, or Pete, or even herself, really – but she was a little hurt that Helena had been so unresponsive.

"Is that why you're so down?" Myka asked anyway, dipping her head to the side with furrowed, concerned brows. "Because it's raining?"

Helena appeared momentarily surprised, but the expression was gone so fast that Myka thought she might've imagined it; in fact, she probably had, Myka convinced herself briefly, but the smile that Helena plastered on next was thin, and it didn't crinkle at the corners of her eyes the way that Myka thought it should. "Now, what has you thinking I'm down, love?"

Myka shrugged. She was worried, and she wanted to make it better (whatever the mysterious _it_ was) but… Helena clearly didn't want to talk about it, so she could refrain from pushing, if pushing would hurt more than help. And Myka could see that it would. So she didn't.

Instead, she asked, "How was the rest of your weekend?"

"Uneventful," Helena declared, but Myka didn't get the sense that it was entirely truthful. But they weren't close enough for Myka to call her out on it, not really, and she was feeling a little displaced by Helena's lack of affection. She hadn't realized it until now, but Myka was abruptly aware that half of their relationship thus far had been communicated through touch, and Helena didn't seem entirely comfortable with that right now. Myka felt a little confused, and very unsure of herself, so she remained silent until Helena continued. "My brother came to visit from Denver yesterday afternoon. He caught me a bit by surprise, I admit," Helena chortled, but it sounded hollow to Myka's ears, and she only wanted to hear that cheery laugh from yesterday, or the husky chuckle from the night before.

"Bad visit?" Myka asked softly, dropping her eyes to her cup and removing the lid under the guise of allowing the drink to cool, but really she just needed to do something with her hands; anything that didn't involve holding Helena's.

Helena appeared to ponder over the question for a moment, but then she shook her head. "I wouldn't say it was bad, no. But I also would not venture to say that it was particularly heartwarming, either."

"Do you and your brother get along?" Despite that all she wanted to ask was, _"Why wasn't it a good visit?"_ But… boundaries. Myka had to remember that those existed, and, right at this moment, she felt like there were even more of them than usual.

"At times," Helena replied with an accompanying, cryptic shrug.

Myka nodded solemnly, and took a sip of her drink to fill the abrupt and increasingly awkward silence that descended over them, flinching a little when the coffee burnt her tongue.

"I'm sorry, darling," Helena sighed eventually. "I believe you might've been correct in your earlier assumption. I suppose I am a bit down today," she confessed.

"It's okay," Myka nodded, and she was a little relieved that, if nothing else, Helena was verbally claiming the emotion for Myka's benefit. "Do you want to do this another time? Because that's okay," she tried to assure, but she didn't want that at all. She'd spent all of yesterday afternoon, and last night, and this morning pining after this woman's company.

Whether she was out of sorts or not, Myka still wanted to be around her. Even if it was occasionally awkward.

It was silly and stupid, Myka knew, but she couldn't help it.

"I'm sure I'll get over it," Myka proceeded valiantly. "Especially if it means that you'll be able to relax, and maybe feel a little bit better. I don't want to – "

"I'm content here," Helena declared, and the smile that touched her mouth was a ghost of the brilliant, beaming thing that Myka had grown accustomed to, but there was affection behind it, and that made _her_ feel a little better. "But I – I might like to just… sit for a while, darling, if that's alright?"

She looked so subdued and withdrawn, but Myka nodded. Yeah, she could do that. If Helena needed to think in quiet for a while, she could definitely do that.

"Do you want me to go?" She queried gently. "I don't mind," she assured, but she really did mind. She minded a lot. She didn't want to go. But she would, if Helena asked it of her. "I could take my coffee to go and meet Pete for – "

"I would rather enjoy your company, if you could… stay?" Helena requested, and it was small and hopeful, and it broke Myka's heart.

She was pretty sure that the fleshy pieces must have been scattered across the floor and pulsating in tandem to that slow, hard, terrified pace that hammered in the tips of her thumbs and lodged in her throat.

But she nodded again.

"Yeah," she confirmed softly. "Yeah, I can stay."

Helena didn't say 'thank you,' and she didn't smile, but something like gratitude gleamed bright in her eyes, and Myka smiled, slow and hesitant and encouraging, and shuffled in her seat until she could lean back against it, shifting her gaze from Helena's face only every now and then, when the woman's expression shifted because of something that she had seen in this coffee shop on Main.

Because Myka wanted to know each of those expressions, and she wanted to know what caused them almost as badly. And if she wouldn't be having a conversation with Helena – which was _fine_, Myka tried to convince herself, like she hadn't spent the past day and change looking forward to figuring out some kind of direction for this odd and sincerely profound relationship that they were constructing, somehow – then she would take pleasure in this; this evaluation and subsequent cataloguing of the softening in Helena's eyes – the simple and simultaneously complex emotion behind those warm brown orbs, or the quirk that touched the edge of her mouth when she found something amusing and didn't feel the need to accentuate it with a lift of that thin, elegant brow, or the way her nose crinkled when some grumpy, older man ordered a double shot of espresso from the barista at the counter.

Yeah, Myka could give Helena this silence.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note:_ Okay, firstly, thank you guys, _so much_, for all of the birthday wishes! Secondly, this chapter gets kind of intense, but it explains a bit about both Myka and Helena's histories, so... it was definitely necessary. But not the fluffily magic that the story has presented so far, so bear with me on the fluffy-front until next chapter, okay? Reviews, please!

* * *

'_Free for lunch?'_

It was a short text – a text that had chimed its innocent arrival a couple days prior, and the second in a succession of three – but even the thought of it turned Helena's stomach into knots; heavy, leaden knots of guilt, and perhaps a bit of grief that Helena's pride refused to claim.

Each of the other messages had been equally short in length.

'_Hope today's better,'_ the first had read. It was brief, and easy, and, though Helena was certain that Myka had hoped for a response, she was no fool; that message had been carefully constructed so that Helena could effortlessly get by without replying, if she so chose.

It had been sent the morning after they'd met for coffee. And it was a kindness, from Myka's end. A compassionate offering generously extended, following a tension-filled coffee date that, Helena knew, had been more than a little dissatisfying for her almost-lover, who had been eager to talk things through and establish something concrete about the relationship that the two had somehow begun to kindle. But Myka had stayed, in spite of disappointment and awkwardness and silence. Myka had stayed, in spite of insecurities and lack of personal contact. Myka had stayed, because Helena had asked her to.

But Helena wasn't even sure why she had kept that date at all. She shouldn't have. She should've called to cancel, really. It would have been more considerate, but Helena supposed that a lot of it was defiance.

Because she'd known, after Charles' visit, that continuing any sort of relationship with Myka Bering was a poorly thought out idea. She was reluctant to accept the concept, but she had known.

"_Uncle Charlie," Christina cried with a wide grin, launching herself with outstretched arms into those of her uncle's, who was knelt on the floor and fully prepared to receive her._

"_Well, hello there, sprout," Charles grinned in return. "How's my best girl, hm?"_

_Christina giggled, and nuzzled her nose against his cheek. "I had a sleepover last night!"_

"_You left your mother all alone?" Charles feigned a frown. "And what d'you presume she did without you, love? Moped about the house, I suppose, yes?" He teased, distending wide palms over Christina's tummy and flexing his fingers until raucous laughter vibrated through the house, and, from her position at her desk, Helena leaned back against her chair to observe with a cheerful smile._

"_Mummy had a sleepover, too!" Christina announced, squirming and twisting within her uncle's grasp until she could escape the threatening waggle of his fingers._

"_Oh?" Charles lifted a brow, but his gaze shot toward Helena with curiosity and a bit of skepticism._

_Helena shrugged, but she was fairly certain that whatever cheerfulness had resided in her expression before had vacated and made room for another tenant; something that felt a bit like guardedness, mingled with shame._

"_Yes!" Christina claimed, oblivious to the conversation that wordlessly travelled above her dark head of curls._

"_Curious, that, isn't it?" Charles winked at Christina. "Now, I hear you have some new clothes to show off for me before you start this new school of yours, eh? Go try them on, love!"_

"'_Kay!" Christina agreed, because she'd been itching for a fashion show since Helena had carted the bags home Thursday afternoon. "Stay!" She demanded stubbornly, pointing sternly at her uncle._

_Charles nodded solemnly and held up his palms in a gesture of innocence, before the small girl all but tripped up the stairs with her excitement._

"_A sleepover, Helena?" Charles raised a brow._

"_I overindulged a bit at the university football game," Helena chuckled, but, even to her ears, it seemed lacking in substance. "I stayed the night with a friend."_

_She'd tried for nonchalance, but Charles knew her. He knew she rarely trusted others after the incident at Cambridge – particularly after so short a time (and she _had_ only been here a little over a month, after all). And he knew that 'nonchalance' was generally a card that Helena played very well. But even Helena couldn't deny that a bit of… something (fondness, perhaps?) had coated her words._

"_A friend?" Charles pressed._

"_Myka," Helena informed resignedly, sighing heavily and scraping her fingers back through her hair, in a gesture that both she and Charles knew often characterized her stress._

"_And this… Myka," Charles paused momentarily, regarding Helena with exasperation and love and concern that seemed both overwhelming and overdone, as far as his sister was concerned, "does she know of Christina?"_

"_Not yet," Helena admitted sheepishly._

"_And you intend to tell her?" Charles searched, frowning._

"_I… Yes," Helena settled tentatively. "Yes, I do."_

"_Helena," Charles chided, folding his arms across his chest, as though he truly needed to express his disapproval in another form. Helena had received that emotion quite clearly, thank you. "How long have you known this woman?"_

"_That's hardly relevant," Helena deflected, because the actual answer would draw something close to anger from her brother, and she had no desire to conflict with that._

"_Of course it's relevant," Charles scoffed. "You cannot just introduce Christina to strangers, Helena. Not given everything that's – " _

"_I need no reminders from you about the catastrophic effects that Cambridge had upon Christina," Helena intersected coolly._

"_No, of course not," Charles sighed, allowing his arms to drop to his sides with his deflation. "I just – you've scarcely said two words about this woman, and already I can discern that she is more than a friend to you. It concerns me. I do not wish to see you hurt, dear sister – and I have even littler desire to see that hurt impact Christina."_

"_Charles," Helena said, tapping her pencil idly against the corner of her desk, "Myka is… She's kind, and generous, and naïve in all of the proper and endearing ways. She means to help," Helena insisted, drawing her eyes to her brother's and offering an ocular plea. "She has no intention to do me harm."_

"_Perhaps not," Charles acknowledged, taking two broad steps forward to rest his palm over Helena's shoulder, "but I presume that she is a student here?" Charles paused, waiting until he received a nod from Helena that served as her confirmation, and he nodded in return. "Even if she intends no harm, do you truly imagine that a university student would be prepared to take on a child?"_

_Helena frowned, and retaliated, "I cannot possibly know that if I do not offer her the opportunity, Charles. Additionally, I fear that's a bit presumptuous on both of our ends, brother. Myka and I have only just met."_

"_Yes," Charles said softly, tightening his fingers as a sad smile upturned the corners of his mouth. "But you've already mentioned your intention to tell her of Christina, have you not? So, what next, Helena? You introduce the two? If things between you progress, she becomes a frequent visitor in the household? And when your Myka graduates, she shall leave this city, no doubt, and move on with her life, as she should. Christina will be heartbroken, Helena. And you will be, as well."_

"_So what do you advise?" Helena inquired snappishly. "That I remain celibate and single until I graduate in two years' time?"_

_Charles shrugged. "Perhaps I am in no position to tell you what to do – "_

"_Indeed, you are not," Helena sharply replied, and accompanied the harsh tone with a glare that few would challenge. But, of course Charles would. _Of course.

"_But your arrival here is so fresh, Helena," Charles said gently. "As is your recent hurt, as well as Christina's. You know she fears that the failure of your relationships at Cambridge is of her doing," he said pointedly. "I do not believe that taking these things into consideration is too dreadful a notion."_

"_Then I shall consider it," Helena conceded._

"_That is all that I ask. You know I only care for your wellbeing, Helena," Charles said quietly, bending to fold a kiss over Helena's temple._

"_Yes," Helena recognized, sighing. "I know, Charles. Thank you. Perhaps you ought to go check on my daughter, now? A few of those bits of clothing will simply clash in color, I'm afraid, and a number of them have buttons that she often tends to bungle."_

"_Of course," Charles nodded, moving toward the steps. He hesitated, briefly, before adding over his shoulder, "I truly do wish you happiness, Helena. I have no desire to strip you of that. I just – "_

"_I understand," Helena nodded curtly, but as he ascended the staircase with a sympathetic glance over her left shoulder, Helena bowed her head and sighed._

So, Helena admitted internally, perhaps she had rushed things a bit with Myka. She had no way of being certain what it was, exactly, that they shared – but she valued her intellect enough to acknowledge that she was well aware how deeply it ran. It had descended over her hard and swift, and its impact could be felt even upon the mere mention of Myka's name.

But she feared that, with a fire so quick and hot as the one that Myka ignited within her, it would burn fast and it would burn cities; it would burn Helena, she was convinced – and, by consequence, Christina. And that wouldn't do.

The fact that the skepticism had hatched from Charles' mind, and not her own, had left Helena struggling against her dignity for several days longer than she should have allowed. And she had gone for coffee with Myka, when perhaps she oughtn't have. Because she could feel the truth behind her brother's words slowly churning in her gut, and despite that she had no desire to confess it, she thought that he might have been correct.

And Helena thought that it wasn't fair, or right, because she truly did care for Myka. She cared for that woman more than she should, even. So, no, it was not fair that she had to sacrifice this glimmer of potential; this glimmer of hope for herself.

But she'd been unfair in her handling of the situation, as well. She truly should not have gone for that coffee. And she should not have asked Myka to stay with her after she had offered to leave, because, though it had been spent in silence with little physical contact, that moment had meant so much to Helena that it would have been impossible for her to classify it as anything but intimate. It had been unfair of her to drag Myka through that, when she'd already essentially determined that they ought not spend time together.

But this wasn't fair, either, Helena conceded, reading through the final text that Myka had sent yesterday morning, while Helena had been slaving over Christina's breakfast.

'_Hope you're alright.'_

It was so very Myka, Helena thought. She knew, and had seen a week ago in the coffee shop, that Myka had been hurt. Bemused, and hurt by Helena's abrupt withdrawal, and rightfully so. And yet, Myka had offered to leave, though she desperately sought answers. And, contrarily, she'd agreed to stay. And she had acknowledged emotions in Helena that had flitted through her so briefly that Helena had been startled that the woman had been able to detect them – particularly with her aptitude for cloaking such personal feelings. Still, Myka had sent three messages in the past week to ensure that Helena was okay.

And Helena had been little more than cruel in return, she thought bitterly, adjusting the strap of her backpack over her shoulder.

Helena sighed and carried her fingers through her hair, but her inner musings were interrupted by the thumping of large – presumably male feet – that, oddly enough, did not continue to trudge by her. Instead, the thumping stopped, and Helena glanced up from the ground that she had been keeping steady eye contact with since departing from her Mechetronics class twenty minutes prior.

"Hey," the accompanying voice greeted, and Helena nearly cringed, because she recognized that voice. That was the voice of Pete Lattimer, and she was certain that speaking with him could lead to nothing favorable for her. She had no doubt that this boy could be quite protective of his friend.

But, "Hello," Helena echoed in reply, and brought her gaze upward out of politeness – or perhaps habit, but Helena wasn't sure that it mattered, because she was still met with a confused, yet earnest expression, and Helena didn't want to know the words that followed it.

"How come you're blowing Mykes off?" Pete asked bluntly, but it wasn't accusatory, as she had expected. It was an honest inquiry.

Helena sighed anyway, because how could she truly answer that question?

"I haven't intended to," she lied. "I've been rather busy this week, I'm afraid."

Pete was quiet for a moment, matching his pace beside hers. "Y'know, if you don't want to date her, you don't have to avoid her," he said sharply, eventually – and that was the tone that Helena had anticipated. But a moment later, Pete softened, and looked at her, gripping his fingers around her the strap of her pack to halt their motion forward. "If you just want to be friends, Mykes'll be the best damn friend you've ever had," he stated, determinedly.

"I do not doubt that, Mr. Lattimer," Helena replied softly. And she didn't. Myka was all that she had boasted to her brother of and more, and Helena had no doubt that if she elected to take their relationship down an alternate course, despite her claims for want of something more, Myka would allow it. And she would be a brilliant friend, even if Myka so obviously wanted more from Helena, as well.

"Then what's the problem?" Pete asked, pleading a bit for an answer that Helena didn't feel prepared to offer. "'Cause Mykes is… she's worried. I think her feelings are a little hurt, too, but she doesn't talk about that. She ranted for like… twenty minutes yesterday about how you could be dead, and she wouldn't know about it. She said you were weird last Sunday – which is cool," Pete said, nodding for emphasis. "I get having an off day. But Mykes…" He paused, and uncomfortably scratched the back of his head. "She's already got a complex, y'know."

"I'm sorry?" Helena inquired, brows furrowing inward.

"She just – Her family wasn't exactly the best," he said, laughing something hollow and scornful, all at once. "And her parents made it pretty clear, on a daily basis, that she wasn't really what they expected when they decided to have a kid – her dad especially. And he was always pushing her to be more, or better, or something, which is _stupid_," he hissed, "because Mykes is the _best_. But her dad would quiz her for hours on college-level stuff, beginning in elementary school. And he'd yell when she didn't get it right. And it went on like that until Myka left for college."

"But…" Helena started, with no small amount of incredulity, "that's abuse. Perhaps not physical, but it's abuse, nevertheless," she declared weakly.

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me that," Pete snapped, then inhaled sharply. "Look, I'm sorry," he apologized a moment later, and he looked sincere about it. "It's just… it did get physical a few times. Not often, but a few times. She came to school once sophomore year with a cracked rib and a dislocated shoulder, with some bullshit story about how she fell off the ladder at her dad's bookstore. But report cards had been sent home that week, and Mykes had an 'A' without a happy plus sign afterward, because her partner for our English project hadn't shown up on presentation day, and two weeks later – after a _lot_ of pushing on my end, by the way – Myka told me that her dad had pulled her off the ladder, and she'd swung into the bookcase on the way down. It _fell_ on her, HG," Pete said, eyes sad and helpless, and he looked like a boy.

But Helena had little time to consider that, because, damn it, she'd _known_ that something awful had transpired between Myka and her father, but… she'd never thought – she'd never even _conceived_ that.

And it was no bloody wonder that Myka questioned her intellect. It was no bloody wonder that she had such a difficult time accepting compliments for it. Because her intellect had been disparaged for years, and by her own family, no less.

"Mykes just… She always has this idea in her head that she isn't good enough," Pete sighed heavily, and the toe of his shoe scraped against the dirt and grass beneath them. "So, I get it if you don't wanna be her lady love, or whatever," Pete said, making eye contact to be certain that Helena understood that he was, indeed, being genuine. "But if you think you could, you know, at least tell her that she didn't do anything wrong…?" He trailed off hopefully. "She's worried about you," he repeated solemnly.

"I'll speak with her," Helena promised.

And maybe it wasn't her greatest idea, but she was beginning to reevaluate her entire stance on avoiding Myka, really, because she'd ignored the woman for as long as she'd known her, and the ache in her chest told her that her attempts to isolate the woman from her life had gone unnoticed. She wanted desperately to be in Myka's company, and, despite the short length of their camaraderie, she felt awful that she was responsible for igniting such terrible feelings of rejection within Myka.

The fact that Myka was no stranger to such feelings only increased her guilt.

"Thanks," Pete puffed, relieved. He took a step backward, as if to depart, but he paused, and said contritely, "And, y'know," he scratched the back of his head again, "maybe don't mention this to Mykes? I probably don't need to tell you, but it's not really something she likes to talk about."

"I would imagine not," Helena murmured, nodding her consent. And she reached out her palm to tighten her fingers over his forearm, and, unable to help the flood of emotions that quivered in her tone, she whispered, "Thank you, Pete."

"Sure thing," he grinned blindingly, as though he hadn't just broken off pieces of Helena's heart by the information that he shared, and he promptly muddled his way through the courtyard, offering a high-five to one of his teammates.

_Oh, Helena,_ she thought to herself spitefully, _could you possibly have devised a plan to wound Myka any further?_

* * *

Helena rapped her knuckles against the frame of the door with courage that she wasn't entirely sure that she possessed. She'd mucked things up with Myka horribly, but she'd spent the majority of the afternoon contemplating this situation, and she'd concluded that Charles had been _wrong_. In fact, _she_ had been wrong to allow his opinion to matter.

Helena wasn't sure why she'd done it. She'd always been firmly of the mind that she was an independent woman of free thought, but… Christina made things different. She had no desire to see her little girl hurt anymore than she had been in the past. But that was certainly no reason to deprive either of them of potential happiness.

It shamed her – and belittled her, Helena thought with injured pride – that it had taken such a heartbreaking story from _Pete Lattimer_, of all people, to pull her head from her arse. But, perhaps she could still make something right from all of this.

And it had been that thought that had brought her to Myka's door that evening, after a quick call to Sophie, who insisted that she didn't mind caring for Christina a while longer – or overnight, if Helena required it. She had promised to text the nanny later on, but she truly had no idea how her confrontation with Myka would play out, so she didn't want to deny the offer until she had ascertained that she had no use for it.

When the door parted several moments later, Helena held her breath. Myka was stunning, as per her usual, sporting nothing but a pair of sleep pants and a tank top – but her eyes looked wary, even as she offered a warm, but tentative smile, and Helena was _nervous_. And damn her pride if it didn't want to admit it, because Helena was here to bare her soul, and pride had little to do with that at all.

"Helena?" Myka inquired softly, leaning against the jamb of the door.

"Hello, Myka," Helena greeted cautiously, sweeping her fingers through her hair in a gesture that, in the past week, had become quite common for her. "I wondered if we might… talk?" She queried earnestly.

"Um… Yeah," Myka nodded hesitantly, exerting enough pressure on her left shoulder to boost herself from the doorframe, and she opened the door a bit wider. "Yeah, that's fine. Come in," she invited.

"Myka," Helena breathed, folding her leg beneath her on the sofa as she turned to face Myka, who – somewhat purposely, Helena suspected – sat atop the coffee table in front of her, as opposed to taking a seat on the couch next to her, "I owe you an apology."

"No, it's fine," Myka shook her head, offering a sheepish laugh. "I can get a little… overbearing sometimes, I think. It's fine, really."

"It isn't," Helena denied carefully, stretching her arms forward to take hold of Myka's wrists with her fingers, caring little for the boldness of her gesture. And if she'd thought that perhaps the time away would loosen the intensity of their contact – of Myka's mere presence – then she'd been terribly wrong, because heat surged from her fingertips and into her toes when their skin met, and Helena swallowed so that she could remember where she'd been going with all of this. "I – I haven't been entirely truthful with you, Myka. I haven't lied," she sighed softly, but admitted, "but I have certainly not been open about my life."

"It's okay," Myka shrugged, and Helena thought it was perhaps meant to be careless, but the gesture ran slowly through Myka's shoulders, and all but demonstrated the weight that she'd been carrying. "We haven't known each other all that long," Myka pointed out quietly, eyes locked on their hands, where Helena grazed her fingers down Myka's wrists to cradle the woman's palms in her own. "I don't expect you to share everything about yourself."

Helena sighed. "I suppose you're correct," she hesitated. "But I – I've hidden something quite significant."

"You're not married or something, are you?" Myka asked, aghast, and making a swift attempt to withdraw her hands, but Helena smiled indulgently and kept a firm grip on them. "Oh, _God_. I didn't even think about that," Myka rushed to say, shaking her head. "I'm so, so sorry, Helena. I didn't – I wouldn't have – "

"Myka," Helena interceded, chuckling just a bit, simply because she could not help herself. This woman was charming and sweet and adorable, and Helena could scarcely believe that she had been willing to sever ties with Myka Bering. But Myka still might not forgive her for her indiscretions, Helena considered, and that thought sobered her instantly. "I'm not married, I assure you."

"Oh, thank God," Myka breathed her relief. Then she promptly scowled, and murmured, "You could've said that before I started tripping over my own words, you know."

"It was endearing," Helena insisted, surprised at how easily they had slipped into playful territory.

"If you're not married, then what – ?"

"I – " Helena paused, sighed, and resumed again, determined. "I have a child, Myka."

She'd expected to wait a moment; to allow the notion to settle in Myka's mind. And she'd been prepared to do that, as well. But Myka nodded slowly, frowned, and inquired simply, "Is that it?"

"What?" Helena demanded, perplexed and startled. "I – I mean, I suppose it is, but – What do you mean, 'Is that it'? That's – It's a fairly big deal, Myka!" She managed indignantly.

"Helena," Myka said softly, "I'm pre-med…" She said, like that should mean something to Helena. And it did _not. _"I know how to recognize the scars from a C-section," she offered hesitantly, upon spotting Helena's continued bemusement. "And you've had a pink giraffe wedged into the back seat of your car since the first time we met, so I didn't really get the feeling that you gave your kid away, or anything…" Myka trailed off, shrugging.

"And – " Helena tried, the edges of confusion refusing to make way for her muddled thoughts, "And that doesn't bother you? That I have a daughter?"

"You love her, don't you?" Myka asked, furrowing her brows inward, seemingly unable to understand the question.

"More than anything in this world," Helena defended abruptly. "She is sweet and stubborn, and a royal pain, if you ask me, but she is… She's mine. She is my Christina, and she is lovely."

"Then…" Myka paused, shaking her head softly, curls quivering at her cheeks, and as soon as Helena noticed it, Myka swept them away with a brush of her fingers before summarily returning them to Helena's, as though by instinct, "why would it bother me that you have a child?"

Helena remained silent, but her eyes scoured over Myka's face – her cheeks, her brows, her eyes… those beautiful, honest green eyes – and she could detect no hint of insincerity.

"I have done you a disservice, Myka Bering," Helena murmured, and she was certain that it positively leaked with affection and gratitude, but she made no effort to hide it. "I have been… misguided, in the past, in trusting others. I – my Christina was not conceived in an act of love, but in an act of violence. Her father was – "

"Violence," Myka interrupted, face flushing and eyes sharpening, flashing with a fury that Helena hadn't thought her capable of. "Rape? Helena…" she breathed remorsefully, anguished, "were you – were you raped?"

"I'm not sure that you could go so far as to call it 'rape,'" Helena said dryly. "Her father – Nate – was… a bed companion, on occasion. Not often, but every few months or so, we'd find ourselves in compromising positions. But we'd been out that particular night, and he had been drinking more than would be considered responsible, so I allowed him to stay in the guest room of my parents' home. I – I believe he might've thought it was alright, considering it was not an uncommon act for us, but when I awoke, and he was… in the act, I suppose," Helena settled with a wry smile, "I was frightened. I screamed a bit, I admit, but he did not relent. It was… not the worst experience, as I knew him, and it was not unfamiliar for us to engage in such activities. But… it was certainly not what I would call romantic.

"He did not apologize, come morning. He smiled, actually," Helena scoffed. "It was a thin, emotionless thing, that implied both challenge and warning, but I rose to neither, and I discharged him from my home. We did not speak after that, but I never said much of it, either. Not until I found out about the pregnancy. And Christina – she's so innocent and free-spirited. And even before she'd developed such traits, I had no desire for her to spend time with a man capable of such… indiscretions," Helena sighed, raking her fingers through her hair, but as soon as they returned to Myka's, they were squeezed tightly in a firm grip that nearly rendered Helena's fingers numb. But it was oddly comforting, as well. Reliving this particular experience was not something she did often, and it did not leave her entirely at ease. "I never intended for the two to meet."

"So he doesn't know?" Myka asked gently, meeting Helena's eyes with compassion and sorrow and… such understated _anger_, and it surprised Helena, but it flattered her, as well.

Helena felt a bit silly, feeling as passionately for Myka as she did after so little time together. But it was comforting to so visibly be able to assess that Myka shared those feelings of intensity.

"He does know, now," Helena divulged quietly. "It was several years later, at Cambridge, that he encountered us. He'd recently received a transfer from a smaller university, I'm afraid. Bastard though he was, we'd initially befriended one another because he was, actually, rather bright. Christina mostly… she looks like me," she said, and could do nothing against the pride behind the remark. "But… her jawline, and the shape of her eyes – those are irrefutably Nate. It did not take much to put the two together, particularly with Christina's age. She's five, now, by the way," Helena asserted, smiling softly. "Anyway, he took offense, and I believe he presumed that I'd made a great deal about the manner of her conception to our friends.

"I hadn't, of course. I'd scarcely mentioned it to anyone, aside from my brother, Charles," Helena shared. "But Nate made it his intention to inform my friends – formerly his friends, as well, from secondary school – about my rather… _loose_ morals, I'm afraid. I wasn't particularly selective with my bedmates in youth, darling," Helena admitted, averting her gaze to Myka's hand, where the woman's fingers abruptly drew up the length of Helena's palm, until they met with the pads of her fingertips.

Myka then lifted her palm upward, and, though she was clearly unsure and very, very insecure in the motion, she kissed the heel of Helena's hand, and Helena's eyes watered.

"You owe me no such kindness, Myka," Helena choked reluctantly, meeting her gaze evenly, but she was grateful and floored, and couldn't mask it. "I haven't been… I've avoided you," she confessed reluctantly. "I – I just… My friends in Cambridge were inclined to believe Nate, you know. They were inclined to believe that Christina was merely a result of my questionable behavior, and they often called her… they called my daughter a bastard, Myka," Helena sobbed quietly, and folded the fingers of her free hand over her mouth. "I didn't – I couldn't let Christina bear the consequences of Nate's actions. And so we moved here," she said, inhaling, attempting to regain some semblance of control. "Charles has several homes in the area, and he generously offered to allow Christina and I to stay in one. I – I could complete my education here, and Christina would be free of… ridicule from her classmates, when she became old enough for school. As it was, her playmates overheard more than they ought to have from their parents…"

"Helena…" Myka murmured sympathetically, shifting from the table to the sofa, and folding her arm around Helena's waist.

Helena didn't mean to. She didn't. But she sank into the contact, and whatever composure she'd thought she might have achieved crumbled to pieces at her feet, because she swallowed thickly, tucked her opposite leg beneath her, and all but dove into the warmth that Myka's firm embrace provided.

"You're brave, and smart, and beautiful, and kind, Helena," Myka whispered in her ear, and, though Helena felt a brief twinge of want in her gut, she mostly allowed the indulgent, soothing tones to cloud over her heart and rain comfort and support and reassurance as she lightly fisted her fingers in the material of Myka's top. "And I'm sure that your Christina is all of those things, too. It doesn't matter how she was conceived; I'm positive that you're a wonderful mother, and that you give her more than she needs to thrive. And no matter what anyone else says, she is yours. And you don't have to defend that to anyone. And you definitely don't have to defend it to me, okay?"

"Alright," Helena sobbed softly, lips brushing against Myka's collar. "Alright."

"Okay," Myka nodded softly. "Come on," she urged gently.

"What?" Helena demanded, swiping her fingers beneath her eyes. She was certain that she looked like a raccoon, at best, but she was beyond caring, in this moment.

Myka Bering had surpassed her every expectation, and Helena was… confused, and vulnerable, and, _God_, so appreciative for Myka's compassionate nature.

"Claudia will be home soon, and… I think we should go upstairs," Myka insisted. "Unless you need to get home?"

"No," Helena shook her head. "No, I – I need to send word to the nanny, but I can… stay, if… if that's alright? I know that I haven't been exactly efficient in handling this, Myka, and I – I understand, if you – "

"Call the nanny," Myka said simply, rubbing Helena's arm softly. "You can stay the night here. I'll get you to class in the morning," she promised.

Helena parted her lips to speak – to voice something, anything of her remorse for the poor manner in which she'd treated Myka, or her gratitude for Myka's kind reception – but Myka shook her head, and contended, "Just call the nanny. We'll talk more in a little while, okay? Come on."

And Myka led her upstairs by the hand, hugging soft, slender digits over Helena's wrist and forearm sporadically, and – like a lost puppy, finally introduced to a home – Helena trailed obediently behind her.


End file.
